


Reap my Fury!

by Jinchuu21



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV), Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: F/M, Multi
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-03-03
Updated: 2018-02-24
Packaged: 2018-05-24 12:02:18
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Underage
Chapters: 11
Words: 62,873
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6153049
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Jinchuu21/pseuds/Jinchuu21
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Hinrik 'Harry' Baratheon, Heir of Dragonstone, and The Storm Bringer. Fire and Ice cannot wither the Storm. An injection of Harry Potter into the Game of Thrones/Song of Ice and Fire Universe.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**287 AC**

The wind was with them as they sailed home and Muirgen Snow could not have been happier. She was of the North, but the North had not been her home in quite some time. To be honest, in the last four years, she had not been in one place long enough to call anywhere home. Home to her was where her lord was, the man she had sworn her life to.

And regardless of what other Sworn Shields could say about their lieges, Muirgen Snow could say for certain that her lord, Hinrik ‘Harry’ Baratheon was far from any normal lord. He did not act, talk, or believe like other lords she had seen and met. For someone so young, at barely four-and-ten, he had a sense of wisdom about him that she admired and that most people of high upbringing lacked. Harry judged people not by their titles or wealth, but of the deeds they did. She could personally attest to that.

Muirgen could still remember the day she had come into his service.

**FLASHBACK**

It was the nameday tourney of Harry Baratheon, the new young lord of Dragonstone. His father, Stannis Baratheon, and mother, Selyse Baratheon, had organized a fairly large competition with sums of gold for the winners for the archery competition and joust. The champion of the melee, the young lord’s favorite competition, was to be granted a favor by the young lord that was within his power. Well, his father’s power really.

The best part was that the melee was open to all who wish to enter. So long as they had live steel armor and weapons suitable to the task. It was not a competition to enter into lightly as lives were made and lost in such duels. But, for someone like Muirgen, a bastard of the House Mormont, did not care about death. As a bastard she knew there were worse punishments.

It had been a difficult thing to do. Even though she stood taller and as broad as most men, Muirgen did not quite have the raw physical strength that men her size did. But, she had learned long ago that man or woman, they all played with the toys the gods gave them. That was what gave her the upper hand on all the men who had joined.

Muirgen had won the melee, beaten and battered, but she had survived and would ask for the highest honor someone of her birth could ask for.

She kneeled in front of the raised platform that sat the noble families. The excitement was evident in the young lord’s eyes, his enthusiastic clapping and cheering more open than she had seen other lord’s allow their children.

Harry looked every bit a Baratheon. His hair was black as night and wild. He stood taller for someone even two years older and was just as broad at the shoulders. But, he did not have the pounds of muscles his uncle did. Instead, Harry was as sinewy as his father. What caught Muirgen most were the child’s eyes. Yes, they held wisdom to them that she was sure she imagined, but it was not that caught her attention. It was the fact that his eyes were emerald; the brightest emerald green color she had ever seen. They were so bright they damn near sparkled underneath the midday sun. His intelligence showed a little later when he addressed her.

“You have won the melee and you are entitled to a favor. What would you ask of me…my lady?” He added with a small grin on his lips. She was shocked. Her helm had been one well before she had made her way to the arena and her armor gave no hint to her gender. It was with a small smile she undid her helm and placed on the floor beside her.

Harry bid her to rise and gestured for the crowd to quiet down. They could hardly be blamed. Women fighting in the North were uncommon, but nowhere near as uncommon as it was in the South. Muirgen imagined that her stature did not help her cause. She stood as tall and broad as any man, with short black hair that was almost in the same style as Harry’s, if albeit longer.

But, out of all of them, it was Harry that was the least surprised. Maybe she had not imagined his knowing grin from early.

“I am no lady, my lord.”

“Well, I would have your name then.”

“Muirgen Snow.” She replied, biting her cheek as her surname slipped past her lips. The crowd murmured even louder. Again, Harry had to raise his hands to quiet them.

“And what would you ask, Muirgen Snow?” He asked, giving her a penetrating look, a look far to unnerving for any child to be in possession of.

“Young lord, I know I am a bastard, but if it please you, I would ask to be made your Sworn Shield. If granted the honor, I give my word I would guard you better than you could expect from the Kingsguard. The Stranger would have taken my soul well away before I allowed any harm to befall you. I would serve you proudly, faithfully, and with unquestioning devotion. By the gods, old and new, if given the task, I will swear it.” Muirgen said confidently. But, inwardly she felt none of her bravado. Already she heard some of the lords and ladies chuckles and giggles at her audacity. ‘What good is word of a bastard,’ some of them openly jeered. When he had said nothing and the murmurs and jeering were all she heard, Muirgen had half a mind to stand up and sprint away in shame. But, a thud in the dirt caused her to look up.

Harry Baratheon was right in front of her, so close she could reach out and touch him. He regarded her with an inquisitive look, as if she was a puzzle to be solved. Then, unexpectedly, he bent at the waist until they were face to face. He stared at her and she found herself unable to turn away from his eyes. It was as if Harry did not see her face, he saw her soul. And in that moment, she knew she was being judge far more harshly than any trial of guilt. Muirgen was being measured. She stared back, refusing to flinch, lest she be found wanting.

“How old are you?” He asked. It was such an unexpected question she was taken back.

“Uh, seven-and-ten, my lord.” She answered after gathering her bearings.

“You are a bit young to be a Sworn Shield. Do you have no want for marriage? Children? Family?” Harry questioned privately, still peering at her queerly.

“No, my lord. What self-respecting man would take a bastard to be his wife? I know what I am my lord. I know what I look like too. I am neither the woman bards sing songs about nor the kind that men go to war for. All I have in this life is my strength and skills with arms.” Muirgen explain, unbelievably open considering they had just met that day. Of course she knew of him, but she did not know him.

“In my humble opinion you do not look so bad my lady that no man would take you, but you’re sure you have no want of your own family?” He tried again. She was starting to think he was playing with her, toying with her emotions only to laugh her off.

“No, my lord.” She sighed, waiting for the metaphorical axe to drop.

“If you are sure. I would hate to take you on only for you to forsake your duty at a later date.”

Muirgen’s head jerked up so fast she might have broke her neck. But, she didn’t care. Not if he was saying what she thought he was saying.

Harry took a step back and announced loudly enough for the crowd could hear.

“I am a young, so I only know few things,” he said, speaking to the crowd of townsfolk and nobles alike. They all listened with rapt attention. “But, what I am certain of, is that anyone can become great if they but have the constitution for it. Ser Barristan Selmy is a fine example,” He held out a hand and pointed to her, a look of pride that she was sure she mirrored if not outdid exponentially.

“Now, Muirgen Snow as another. People of Dragonstone, I give you the champion of the melee and my Sworn Shield, Muirgen Snow!”

He took her hand and raised it as high as he could, not very high considering her height advantage on him. She would never forget the cheer of the crowd as he heralded her his Shield, nor would she forget the words after. He looked over to her and gave an assuring smile.

“I cannot make you a knight. But, I have no doubt that one day, you will earn that honor all by yourself.” Harry said quietly over the roar of the crowd.

Muirgen knew in that moment, that if she would never do so again in her life, that on the seventh moon of that year, she had made the right decision. She would do everything in her power to never make him regret his decision.

**END FLASHBACK**

His father had many things to say about Harry’s public announcement. Stannis had tried to shame Harry, belittle him, even going so far as to order his son to foreswear her. But, Harry rejected all of his reprimands and vehemently denied disowning her. He had given his word and he would not turn back on it. Muirgen knew he would make a great true knight and lord one day.

But, after it all, Muirgen had to pass one final test.

Harry had invited her into his bedchambers in the middle of the night. A thing she thought nothing of since he was just a boy. Apparently, it was a folly on her part. He was pleasant at first, but that quickly changed when he commanded her to disrobe. The command shocked Muirgen to her very core. Harry removed the bed covers from himself to reveal himself in his small clothes. He was impressive to be sure, but he was still just a boy. At her hesitation, he told her he would not ask again. ‘’Unquestioning devotion’, that was what you said.’ He parroted back to her.

It made her feel ill at what she had to do. But, she had given her word and Muirgen Snow was a bastard, but she was no oath breaker. It was with a slowness she disrobed, not out of sensuality, but shame. She did not even want to know why it had to be her. If he wanted someone to warm his bed, she would have rode into the city and paid a woman for her time. Was that not what lords did?

It took forever to finally be undressed, but it felt like no time at all. She stood stark as the day she was born and he motioned for her to kneel right in front of him, right in front of his boy cock. Muirgen had never done such a thing before, but had heard of men talk of such things. She had thought of biting him, ruining him for any other woman, but wouldn’t. He had given her everything she could have hoped to achieve in her life. If she had to go through such degrading acts to pay for it, then so be it.

Harry motioned for her to get on with it, assuming she knew what she was doing. Muirgen had to swallow, lest the bile rising in her throat come out and stain her new lord. She did her best to remain impassive, to not allow her disgust show. He might have denied his father to disavow her, but that did not mean he could not. She reached for his small clothes, trembling all the while. The garments did not even leave his hips when Harry put his hands on hers and smiled so affectionately at her. He took her hands from his small clothes and set them at her sides. His hands went to her cheek and he brought her head forward so he may plant a chaste kiss on her forehead.

‘Thank you.’ He had said, before grabbing her clothes and handing them to her.

She was only shocked for a moment before the anger and embarrassment flooded her. Muirgen raged at him as loudly as propriety allowed. It would not due for her to yell so loudly guards came into his room. What is all a joke? Something he had done to shame her? A sick twisted fantasy for him to play with her?

Throughout it all, Harry sat on his bed in his small clothes and listened to her as she covered her nonexistent modesty. When she was out of breath and flush from her spent rage Harry spoke words to her that rang truer than words from any master or septa.

‘Many men swear oaths, many knights pledge loyalties and allegiances, but almost all of it is just wind from their mouths. You are to be my Sworn Shield and that to me means more than guarding my body. You are to guard my secrets, be my confidant, the person I trust most in this world, even that above my father, mother, and one day, lady wife. I would have proof that your words are not empty and meaningless as many who have given oaths before you.’

She was rendered speechless. Especially since, even with her sitting there naked, he sat legs folded underneath him without fear for his modesty and proceeded to ask her to tell him about her life and the North.

After that day he had truly taken her in, Harry had stationed her room right across from his. He informed her of his normal routine and she attended to him, never straying far from his side, even joining him and his family during meal times. He took his responsibility of being her lord very seriously. Harry bought her better armor, her last in tatters after the competition, and it was nowhere near the quality he had the castle smith make. He also replaced her weapons. She protested, but Harry shushed her.

‘You are my sworn shield. That means you represent me and by extension House Baratheon of Dragonstone. I will not have a shield that looks like a ragamuffin. You may be of the North, but you will look every bit the Southern Lady…with armor and weapons.’ He explained with finality. It only made her want to prove herself worthy even more.

She trained with the knights and guardsmen at Dragonstone, pushing herself with a reckless abandon to her own safety. Muirgen fought harder and faster, often driving the men to their knees and backs when she knew Harry was watching.

As time went on, she became more integral in his life. When the maids came to set out his clothes, she made sure they were things he liked to wear. When his father had given him his first real sword, she showed him how to sharpen and maintain it. Often, they would be in his bedchambers and she would tell him stories of the North while they sharpened their swords.

And when Harry convinced his mother and father that he wanted to travel the Seven Kingdoms before he was tied down to Dragonstone, mostly convince his mother, Muirgen followed faithfully. And travel they did, with nothing but two purses full of coin, their swords, two horses, a few sets of clothes and a leather jug for water.

They had so many adventures together. The went to King’s Landing, which wasn’t at all that interesting, and took King’s Road to Harrenhal, the once mighty fortress that was laid waste by Dragon Fire. Then, they stopped by Crossroads Inn on their way to the Vale. Next, they went to the North, where Muirgen showed Harry her old stomping grounds before going as far as the Wall. Lannisport in the Westerlands, the gardens and farmland of the Reach, before going back to King’s Landing on their way to Dorne. Muirgen asked about the Stormlands, but Harry had said he had lived their as a child and there was so many other things to see. Dorne had to be by far her lord’s favorite place. They traveled roads and mountain passes, living off the land, practicing his sword skills on their way. From Starfall, to Yronwood, to Sunspear, Harry loved it all; their culture, their music, their art, and especially their wine and women.

Her lord had become a man in Dorne, being invited to lie in bed with some serving girl at a tavern. Muirgen stood by, casually sipping on Dornish wine, as she guarded the door. It took longer than she was told men lasted their first time, but it did go on longer than one time. She would hear the pleasurable noises and girlish giggles, followed by finishing groans. Then, silence would ensue. When she was tempted to peek to make sure her lord still alive, the noises started again. They were in there so long, Muirgen made sure to pay the girl for time lost.

They had spent a good amount of time in Sunspear. So long in fact, they had been invited to dine with Prince Doran and Oberyn who had caught wind of his presence there. She was reluctant to go, the Martells having been against the Baratheon’s during King Robert’s Rebellion. But, her lord just laughed and pointed out that if they had wanted to kill him, they could have done so at any time and none would have been the wiser.

He drank with Oberyn and followed the Prince to a few of the upper-ended whorehouses; something that Harry normally never partook in. He always wanted the women willing. If it was for coin, then he was a job rather than a pleasure. Muirgen believed it was because he did not want to offend Prince Oberyn, who thought himself teaching a young man how to be one. Muirgen did not agree, but it was not her place to question her lord.

Only guard.

Harry and her stayed at the palace their last few weeks in Dorne, before Harry had decided it was time to go back home. In that time, he had made great friends with Oberyn’s bastards and the Princess Arianne. They would go riding under her watchful eye or training in the training yard with wooden swords, shields, and spears. He seemed to get along well with Arianne and Muirgen could see a potential marriage between them. Even, if only to mend the rift created by his uncle and the kingdom of Dorne. Muirgen had even seen the princess give Harry a kiss good bye before exchanging a few words. She wondered if the kiss was all she had given him before they left. Dorne’s customs were after all very different that where they were from. But, shook the thought away. The girl had probably not yet even had her first moon’s blood.

And so, they had set sail for home. A ship had taken them from Sunspear to Evenfall Hall near Shipbreaker’s Bay and from there they bought passage for Dragonstone. She could only imagine his father and mother’s surprised when they finally arrived home.

Harry looked more a Baratheon than he did when he left. His hair was still black and wild, but he certainly had filled out more for a young man of three-and-ten. His shoulders, chest, arms, and legs had filled out with muscles. The hard life had done his body good. Muirgen could personally attest to how well sculpted he was bare and any woman who was lucky enough to have him would not be disappointed in body or spirit. If there was anything she had learned about him, it was Harry was always willing to rise to the occasion. In arms, drink, or women.

He stood at the bow of the ship, one foot on the railing, the sea wind brushing back his hair and Muirgen could not help but think of the stories of lord’s sail to conquer lands or saved beautiful princesses. Harry had always kept his shorter than most men, never letting his shoulder touch his neck or shoulders. But, that took nothing away from how handsome he looked. Muirgen could testify to how many women found him desirable for his splendor alone. He had one hand on the long sword at his side, a little on the smaller side for how much he had grown, the other on his knee. His face was split into a wide smile when they could finally see the port of Dragonstone and Muirgen could tell that while her lord had enjoyed their travels, he was happy to be home.

Muirgen put on hand on her own sword, a fine piece of castle forged steel that Harry had bought her, and made his way to him. He appeared deep in thought, but when she approached close enough, Harry turned to look over his shoulder at her, an action that made her smile. The road had been a harsh life and he had learned many hard lessons.

“Eyes in the back of your head, my lord.” Muirgen complimented as she laid her hand on his shoulder.

“A harsh life lesson you have helped me with my friend.” Harry replied, “And I told you, you can call me Harry when we are like this, Max.”

Muirgen shook her head with a smile. He had been trying to get her to drop his title when they traveled. She had when in places packed with people, no need putting a target on his back. But, when they could speak freely Muirgen always reverted back to his respectful and earned title. He was her lord. He had done everything a lord should when it came to people in their service and Muirgen would not be the one to discount such things.

“And I told you. It’s either my lord, or Young Lord Hinrik Baratheon, Heir of Dragonstone. The latter is such a mouthful, don’t you agree my lord?” Muirgen jested.

It was Harry’s turn to shake his head and chuckle. But, then he turned serious.

“Max,” He began hesitantly, “there is no need to tell my father and mother of everything that happened on our journey.”

“You mean the women you bedded?” She asked curiously.

“Among other things.” He nodded back.

“Ah, my lord. Many young men are curious as to what it feels like to lie with a woman. I doubt your parents would be angered too much with using your spear on a few women. Besides-“ Muirgen cut off her platitudes when she saw the look on Harry’s face. The meaning of his words had sunk in.

The road of their journey was hard, a fact she constantly told herself. She believed it to do him good, but Muirgen forgot that while the road had made him strong and knowledgeable about the world, it made him far too knowledgeable.

It was an impossibility to travel as far and wide as they did without running into…problems. In the beginning, Muirgen had been able to handle them on her own, no more than two or three highwaymen that lacked both arms and skill. But, as they started getting into the wilder regions of the world, the numbers became higher. And regardless of how lacking in skill and proper weapons, enough men could overwhelm her.

Such was the case when Harry lost his innocence only a few months into their journey on the long road of King’s Road to Moat Cailin. There had been a dozen of those bastards. Harry had tried to reason with them, offer to buy them food. But, that had proven a mistake. If he had coin to buy all them food, then he would surely have more for them to spend on other things.

Muirgen had done her best to protect him, to keep him safe. But, in the end, Harry had needed to help in his own safety. He put all the lessons he had received at Dragonstone and what she had shown him to good use. His movements were hesitant at first, his body shaking and unsure in its nervousness. But, like with all men, when their lives were on the line, Harry fought with determination to keep living. He had the ferocity of a stag threatened. He bore his horns and charged into so boldly into the fray that he perfectly embodied the words of his house.

Ours is the Fury.

He had killed four that day and needed wine to fall asleep that night. It was a time that Muirgen did not know how to help him. Killing those bandits didn’t bother her. For her the choice was simple, they were a threat to her lord and she eradicated it with extreme prejudice. She knew that such actions were inevitable for the life she had chosen. Their blood pooling the dirt and grass, their lives leaving their eyes, did not bother her so long as Harry was safe.

She said such words to him and he was grateful, but said that he did not need it. Those words set her on her heels. Muirgen had expected him to take such things harsher, but Harry just shrugged.

‘I did not set out to kill those men. I even offered them a hot meal, but their greed was more important than our lives. There was no pleasure in my taking their lives, but I do take solace that we are still alive and that those men will never be able to hurt anyone again.’

Muirgen was of two minds at his words. She was glad that he was not badly traumatized by such deeds. More so that he did not think her inadequate of her duties since it was her duty to ensure he was protected, not have to protect himself. The other was shocked at his maturity. She had known him intelligent, but any boy could be intelligence and still be childish. But, Harry had handled the matter with grace and poise. The only thing to show that it did effect him was he requested more time on the road be spent practicing.

“I do not believe such things need be mentioned, unless I am specifically asked about it. Though, I do think that while your mother would worry herself, your father would be proud. Lord Stannis is known for his propensity towards justice. What other justice is there for men who would kill others for gold than death?” She finally said, coming out of her memories. He looked like he wanted to argue with her, but instead smiled as if remembering something and nodded at her.

“Aye, as I said before. At least now, they can’t hurt anyone anymore.” Harry said, slightly forlorn. Muirgen smiled and patted him on the shoulder, glad to be done with such melancholy discussions.

They would land at Dragonstone soon and it would not do for her lord to look so sad at his return to his family.

~*~*~*~

**LATER THAT NIGHT**

Lord Stannis had expressed his wish to see her after the feast in honor of his son’s return was over. The whole castle and the knights who were sworn to the Lord of Dragonstone had been in attendance. They ate like kings and queens that night, with men far more into their cups than Lord Stannis would have approved of. But, the normally dour men held his tongue because it was a celebration and he was happier than anyone for his wayward heir to finally return home. Well, except for Harry’s mother. Lady Selyse was beside herself with joy, rarely passing an opportunity to shower her son in hugs and kisses. She had wanted to hear of all the stories of their travels and Muirgen’s lord was not want to deny his mother something so simple. She stood besides Harry as he regaled his mother with their travels, telling her of his favorite sights. He had left the parts of bandits and women out. Because, gods bless him, Harry did not want to break his mother’s heart.

It was well into the night when Muirgen had leave to see Lord Stannis. She had escorted Harry to his room, setting aside his clothes for the maids to take in the morning. He thanked her for what seemed like the umpteenth time for doing her duty well on their travels and for the umpteenth time she had told him, he had protected her just as well as she protect him. Muirgen had bid him good evening, promising they would meet in the morning for swords practice.

She had been nervous on her way to meet Harry’s father. They had only been at Dragonstone a hand full of months before they set off to explore and she had done her best to avoid Lord Stannis after his argument about her entering Harry’s service. Her mind was a whirl at all the reasons he would want to see her. As she calmed her speeding heart, Muirgen knew that there would only be one reason Lord Stannis would want to meet with her.

Harry.

Muirgen knocked on the door to Lord Stannis’ study, one hand on the hilt of her sword. She did not expect any combat, but a lesson she and Harry learned on the road: always expect a fight. A curt, but clear, ‘enter’ came and she followed as commanded. She marched directly in front of his desk and stood tall, not allowing the instinct to cower in front of him take hold.

“Lord Stannis,” she greeted with a bow at her shoulders.

“What happened to my son?” He shot back, forgoing platitudes and going straight for the heart of the matter. There were a million things Muirgen could have said, a million things she wanted to say, but settled on having him expand on his very broad question.

“I do not understand the question,” came Muirgen’s reply.

“His mother may not see it, but I do. That is not the same boy who left here,” Stannis sat down behind his desk, motioning for her to sit across from him. “He’s almost a man now, much more a man than I expected him to be after traveling so long with only you as his companion.”

She did not believe his words to be a slight, but could not help taking it that way. Still, the only show of it was the narrowing of her eyes.

“He has done like all boy do, Lord Stannis, with or without fathers.”

He grunted his agreement before a silence overcame them. Muirgen didn’t fidget as Stannis stared, she wouldn’t give him the satisfaction of knowing the quiet was getting under his skin.

“He has killed men?” The man finally asked.

“Yes, all of them evil men.” He nodded thoughtfully at her reply. “I protected him as best I could-“

Stannis snorted, ending her explanation.

“If there was even a question about such matters, you would not be here.” He said, as he stood, unable to keep himself still in his chair.

“How many?” There was no doubt as to what he was asking.

“The first time? Four. But, by the time we returned home…if we were in a war, he would be knighted for gallantry and service to the realm.”

She had never seen Lord Stannis laugh. Muirgen would have doubted any man, aside Harry, who would have said Stannis did laugh. But, at the moment, he did. It was only a singular giant ‘ha!’ in pride, but it was something.

The moment was lost just as fast as it came though.

“A knight?” He asked thoughtfully, mostly to himself. “A knight needs a great sword.”

“Yes, a great sword and armor. He is almost of the age where he will need it one way or the other.”

Stannis pulled parchment, quill, and ink from his desk.

“Can you draw, girl?” Muirgen did her best not to frown at being addressed in such a way. She was one-and-twenty, far too old to be a mere girl. There was also the fact that she had killed men in Harry’s service. Muirgen was many things, but she was no mere girl.

“I have an eye enough for detail. But, it will be no means a masterpiece.”

Stannis waved away her words, setting the material in front of her.

“Better you than me. The only art I cared to master was of war. You have traveled with my son for four years you will know his preference best. I will tell you want I want, and you will fit it to my son’s technique.” He said, sitting down to contemplate.

“It something that he could use on foot and horseback.” Stannis instructed.

Muirgen drew the beginnings of a longsword, one that her lord could proudly wield in battle. All great swords were like banners. Men would see the weapon and rally to its wielder. She listened to every detail Harry’s father had to say, impressed with the level of detail he wanted into Harry’s sword. Ultimately, Muirgen knew Harry best and settled for something simpler.

It was to be a longsword of castle-forged steel; blued at the base before transitioning to natural steel color with a diamond ground cross section and a half blade fuller. The guard was a simple and gentle upsweeping piece of hard steel. On the guard itself was the House Baratheon words, ‘Ours is the Fury’ to be filled in black against the steel background. The hilt was to be made of weirwood carved into a long oval shaped covered with tough blackened hide. The pommel was a circle with a cross in the hollowed center. Around the circle contained the words, ‘Duty, Justice, Honor’ on both sides.

Muirgen took no small amount of pride that she had come up with that idea.

She finished putting the finishing touches before handing the parchment to Lord Stannis. The stern man looked at the finished product with a keen eye.

“A little plain is it not? You do not believe he would want something a bit...grander?” He asked with a tilt of his head.

“My lord is one of modest taste. His sword should be a symbol, but more functional than anything else.”

Stannis took the quill from her and began making notes. When Muirgen looked over, she saw it was notes for the scabbard. He did not draw, but instead neatly scribed instructions. Detailed instructions with rough estimates of weight and materials used for decorations. The hilt was also to be of weirwood and covered in black hide. A polish silver stag head was to be at the center and silver accents were at the opening and tip. Stannis had seemed to take her opinion to heart, as the sheath was handsome, but not extravagant.

When he was finished he thrust the paper at her.

“See it done. Tell the blacksmith I will only accept the best and it was to be ready as soon as possible. Also, he is to make a dagger to match the sword. An exact version, but scaled down to size.” He ordered her.

She wanted to point out that she was not one of his house guards, one of the knights loyal to him, or a servant girl. Her loyalties laid elsewhere. But, as the sword was for Harry, Muirgen took the parchment and turned to leave with a nod of her head.

“Snow.” Stannis called out, causing her to turn.

“Lord Stannis?”

“We aren’t done yet. I still have armor to design and would have your opinion on the matter.” He grunted, not at all pleased to be asking her for help. But, Muirgen still smiled. The night was going to be long as she planned out what her lord would wear at tourneys and in battle.

~*~*~*~

 


	2. The Merlin to his Arthur...sort of...

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Re-work and edited. Tell me what you guys think.

**Notes: Some people have come to me saying the scene with the gods was out of character for the Harry I have portrayed. At first, I was hesitant. I liked the scene I had written. But, a reviewer had called it anime-ish and I re-read the chapter with earnest. They were right. It was completely anime-ish. That wasn’t what I was striving for. I wanted to write a cool scene. But, I reexamined the story and the part the Storm god would play. I realized, that it wasn’t a very big part. It was so negligible that even if I put ANYTHING else in its place, the story would pretty much be the same. So…I took it out.**

**It wasn’t until I read a very thorough review from coldblue that I realized I could fill that chapter with other things, people, etc. that would actually help the story. It would save me time from introducing certain things and people. So, I rewrote it and revised other chapters I have written. As I was writing it, I realized that I could do so much more now, because I would not have to search for places to incorporate Njörd. I also could focus Harry in a direction I wanted. I wanted to show the power of mankind. So many people use too much magic, too much outside influence that they forget that mankind has done all kind of great things without magic or gods (maybe in the name of a god), but without their direct influence.**

**I hope you guys like the re-work, I tried really hard to make it realistic and less ‘anime’.**

**CHEERS!**

**289 AC**

            He had never been so angry in either life. For all the tragedy that had befallen him in the past, never had Harry been so enraged. Not when the people who called out for him to save them turned against him; fickly hailing him as a saint one moment and cursing him as a sinner the next. Not when he had discovered that his entire life was one giant scheme perpetrated by a senile, old man. Not even when his godfather had fallen through the Veil.

            Never.

            But, as his sister deteriorated, stepping closer everyday into an early grave, Harry’s fury brewed in his chest like a storm. It grew to colossal proportions, threatening to explode if the wind caressed him in correctly. But, he held it in. His parents already had one child to worry over, Harry would not give them two.

            Behaving was the only thing he could do.

            When it had all started, he had prayed; something to do, something to feel as if he was helping somehow. Everyday, every moment he could, Harry kneeled before the gods the septums spoke so highly of. They were supposed to be gracious, merciful, and just. The Mother was supposed to protect children and the innocent.

_Well, where the fuck is she?_

            It was as fair a question he had ever asked. If the gods where so merciful, so just, then who in all the hells that were and will be did little Shireen slight so badly as to waeeant the sentence of death through grey scale. She was only two moons old and already slated to die. Where was the mercy the priest ranted and raved about. Where was the justice?

            His sister would not have to die for Harry to kill what little faith in the gods he had. His old life was one of magic, why would it be so hard to believe in gods. But, his magic had never failed him; acted in a weird way or not respond if treated with disrespect, but it never failed him when he had needed it. The gods had failed him, failed to prove the existed. He had went to them on his hands and knees for days, begged and pleaded, offered them anything including his own life, and what did he have to show for it? What did the ‘just’ and ‘merciful’ gods do?

            They showed him that for being seven gods, they were just as useless as seven deaf, dumb, and blind mortals. Worse even, as at least mortals would let you know they were deaf, dumb, and blind. The ‘gods’ didn’t even have the deceny to tell him ‘No’.

            All they gave him was silence. In his time of need, in his time of suffering, when he raised his voice to them, they said nothing.

            So, Harry decided to return the favor. He would give them silence for their silence. He would say no prayers to them, give them no praise, and shun their priests. What good were words of priests whose gods did all of jacks-shit?

            He would give apathy to them, just as they showed it to him. Harry would not rage at them, give them the attention they wanted. He would not give them satisfaction of thinking they broke his will. Harry would stay with his sister, give her the love she deserved, and be thankful whether she lived or died; for as short or long as it was or would be, he at least had had the pleasure of having a sister. If she died early, Harry would not have her question in the afterlife where he was. He would be next to her until the bitter end. If she lived, she would never question his love or dedication to her. When he would become Lord of Dragonstone, his little Shireen would want for nothing.

            Harry was to make his way to his sister’s bedchambers when Muirgen opened the door. Her look was so stern that it would have been misplaced if not for the current situation of the castle.

            “My lord, you have a visitor and a message from the Princess of Dorne.” She said, hiding her body behind the door.

            “I will see no one until my sister is gone or better. Arianne will understand me not writing right away.” He said, pouring himself a cup of wine. It would serve to calm him before seeing the extremely disheartening sight of his sister.

            “Your sister is why you have a visitor, my lord. She is some priestess, to some god across the sea. She says she can rid little Shireen of greyscale.”

            Harry wanted to scoff. His own gods did not help him, gods that he had been blessed under when he had been born.

His father had offered riches fit for a king . Many a man and woman claimed to be able to cure Shireen. Maesters, clerics, witches, priests, and priestesses they all claimed to be back to do what others could not. And they had all failed in equal manner.

Still, she was not getting any better. What harm would come from another try, it was better than doing nothing.

“I will see her.” He commanded, sitting behind his desk. It was a thing he had learned from his father as a child. When Stannis has used to scold him, he always sat behind his desk as if it was only the offending object that would save Harry. If the desk were not between them he would be in danger. It used to always set Harry on edge making him feel insignificant and small, at least until he grew older and learned the secret to such a strategy.

The priestess to enter was not what he had been expecting. Most septas were old, undesirable, and stern faced. It was a common joke amongst the kingdoms that their vows of celibacy had robbed them of all pleasurable faces. They did not smile or laugh much from what he had seen, causing their wrinkled skin to form frown lines so deep that their expressions would forever be dour.

But, not the woman Harry mentally called the red priestess, for just about everything she wore was red. From the red flowing silk gown, reddish hair, and plump red lips. She was taller than most men he had seen, but not to the degree of Muirgen, with a body that was almost perfect in its balance of slender stature with the right amount of curves to exemplify her status as a beautiful woman. It did not surprise him when she walked into his study with grace befitting a dancer.

What did surprise him was the aura that accompanied her. It was a sense of something he had not felt in a long time and not in all of his travels over Westeros.

Magic.

The woman was no common priestess, but one who was imbued with magic. Not as heavy as some of the great wizard and witches of his old world, but enough for his senses to sing.

“Greetings Azor Ahai, I am Melisandre, priestess to the one true god, R’hllor. I have travel far to finally meet you.” She greeted, her voice sonorous, polite, and oddly seductive.

Harry would have been entrance if she had not gotten his name wrong. But, that was not what he cared about. She could have called him a horse’s pimply arse so long as she could do as she said.

“You said you could heal my sister. How?” He asked, though feeling as if knew the answer.

“I can do many things, the lord’s chosen. R’hllor lends me his power to do many great deeds, see many great things. It was only through him did I find you.”

The woman was obviously insane, but Harry could feel her power. He just did not know if it would be enough to fully heal his sister.

“Why not go to my father with your services? He is the one offering the reward. I do not have as much as he to offer.”

“But, you do. It is you that has what I desire, not your father, Azor Ahai.” She had said that name again. It was almost as if it were a title, but it was not one that Harry had heard of or earned. The way she answered all his questions in a way that only led to more questions also annoyed him greatly. His temper was already at an all time high, the woman was going to push him off the edge if he did nothing to stop her.

“Speak plainly. Explain fully before I lose what little patience I have.” He growled.

“I did not mean to offend, but it seems I have. I apologize.” Melisandre said with a small bow. “I have seen your face in the flames. R’hllor has chosen you to lead the fight against the Darkness and sent me to show you the one true way of the Light.”

Harry snapped. She had said so many words that meant absolutely nothing.

“What does that have to do with healing my sister!” He roared at her. “I said speak plainly witch! But, you spend more air on nonsense. I don’t care if you worship fire, water, air, or the earth. How are you going to heal…my…sister?” His breathing was deep through the nose, an attempt to calm himself, so he would not give the command for Muirgen to run the woman through. It was on the tip of his tongue. But, it would not have been just.

“The Lord of Light, R’hllor will cure your sister through me. She will live, cured of fever and scars. But, for such a great feat requires a great price. I will take the disease from her and place it in you.” Melisandre finally explained.

“You would cure the babe only to kill the son? Are you fucking mad? My lord, give me leave to dispose of this woman.” Muirgen exclaimed, hand already on her sword.

But, Harry held up a hand to stop her. It was not a price he was unwilling to pay. He had offered his life to the gods in exchange for Shireen’s. To go back on that now, even if it wasn’t them to answer, would make him an oathbreaker. No one would have called him it, but Harry would think himself one.

“I will give my life for my sister’s.” He intoned, standing tall. Harry would not go kicking and scream to his death. He was to willingly die for someone he loved, he would accept his fate with dignity.

“You cannot be serious, my lord.” Muirgen said, roughly passing the red priestess, “there will be another way. I know you love your sister, but you cannot be sure that you will survive or that this…woman,” she spat, “can even do as she says.”

Harry just shrugged.

“If she cannot do as she says, then you have no reason to worry. As for surviving, so long as Shireen does I do not care.” He said in a tone that let her know the matter was closed. She showed her displease by bearing her teeth at him, before spinning on Melisandre with murder in her eyes. Before his Sworn Shield could get out a word the priestess of R’hllor spoke past her.

“I’m afraid you are mistaken Azor Ahai. I only said that you would have greyscale, not that you would die. You have still much to do before the Lord of the Light accepts you into his embrace.” Her words made Muirgen freeze in relief, before skepticism set in.

“Greyscale is always fatal in grown men. Children are known to be able to battle it, but even that is no guarantee. Shireen will have a better chance of defeating the disease than my lord would. She may come with scars, but her chances of survival are higher.” Muirgen practically shouted at the red headed woman.

“That is where you are wrong. He has something that his sister does not,” Melisandre explained without explaining, “The light of the Red god R’hllor is within him. It is a bright fire that will burn the illness to ashes.”

“So I just…take it and that’s it?” It was Harry’s turn to be skeptical. There was no way it was that easy.

“No, there is a price.” Of course there was. “All things come with their prices, I just said you would not die.”

All their arguments were nothing. It didn’t matter. He would pay the price. He took the woman by the hand. If not for his urgency, he would have noticed the surge that traveled between them. Harry had never transversed through the castle as fast as he had with the witch in hand. Servants scurried out of the way at the sight of him, his face set into a very impressive scowl.

He bypassed the guards guarding his sister and shoved the door as if the thing had deliberately offended him. His mother and father were actually civil, sitting together at Shireen’s side. Harry saw Maester Cressen administering another concoction to his sister. He had lost count of how many the wizened man have give his sister. Harry did not want to be hopeful, but could not help hoping that it would be the last.

“Heal her.” Harry said pointing at the babe who wriggled and writhed in agony. He was thankful she was silent. His heart would not have been able to bear it if she cried out. Harry could only take so much of seeing her struggle, seeing her pain before his own ache became too much to bear.

Melisandre reached into her long flowing sleeves, but Harry had seen such things before. Powders to create colored smoke. Showmanship. Not something he cared for. His fingers curled around her arm in a iron grip.

“No parlor tricks, no gimmicks. Just heal her, give the damn thing to me and let us be done with it.” He was trying to stay calm, lest his excitement transfer to his parents. His father looked at if to say something, but Harry just held out a hand as if asking them to wait. Stannis was not happy, but nodded his consent.

Melisandre tilted her head in a respectful bow, removing her hands from her sleeves. She showed him her empty hands to show her sincerity. The priestess made her way towards the child, cooing at it as a mother would, and place a hand on the babe’s face; it was where the scales had started to form.

“Be brave young one. It will only hurt for a few moments.” She whispered before chanting underneath her breath. It was an act Harry could appreciate. Melisandre could have chanted loudly, testifying to whose strength and power she was using. But, she did not and Harry appreciated it.

He had felt her magic and was not at all convinced that is was because of a god.

Shireen cried and screamed like she was being set on fire. From the smoke coming from her face, Harry was inclined to believe it. He had to hold Muirgen back and his father kept a firm hand on his mother’s shoulder. It seemed like an eternity that his sister shouted in anguish. He had to steel himself from pushing the red woman off, fearful that if he stopped her, ‘treatment’ would not take.

After forever, Melisandre pulled away sweating profusely and dropping to the floor. Her hand was covered in silvery scales, but glowed with power. Harry rushed past her to look at Shireen. The anger he had felt early that day turned into joy of equal measure. She cooed for the first time since he could remember, looking up at him with the blue eyes of his House. Harry made to take her, but Melisandre reminded him of the price he had to pay.

“I cannot hold it forever, Azor Ahai. I weaken by the moment. It must be now.” She grunted out painfully.

He could have left her with it, allowed her to suffer the ordeal that his sister had went through. But, that was not his way. His sense of honor would eat at him if he did. Harry had made the bargain, his life for Shireen’s. He would live up to his word.

What was a man without it?

Harry knelt in front of her, ignoring his mother’s shout of “No!” She would understand, his father would understand. Just as his father would keep his word about a reward, Harry would keep his word of taking the disease into himself. He had no idea if Melisandre’s words about his ‘fire’ burning it away and frankly, it did not matter.

He did not flinch as she touched his face, the same side that Shireen’s affliction had been on. He did not flinch as he felt her transfer him the greyscale. But, he did keel over when the soothing warmth of her magic disappeared.

The feeling of being beside a warm fire was replaced with…pain. It was a poor word to describe what he had felt, for no words would ever be able to explain just how truly awful it was. Harry could fully comprehend why his sister screamed and cried day and night. If felt as if gravel had invaded under his skin, scraped at the walls of his veins, and froze his blood. Simultaneously, he started a fever. He felt so hot that it was as if his skin would melt from his bones, scales and all.

He did the only thing he could do.

Scream.

Harry yelled long, hard, and angrily. Never had he felt such pain. No heartbreak or no failed dream would ever compare. No wound by sword or arrow or spear or mace would ever trump what it felt like to have the disease inside of him, spreading, threatening to overtake him. Shireen had weeks for the illness to spread, but with Harry it multiplied exponentially, fueled by Melisandre’s magic. He had no need for air, paid no attention to how his throat started to crack and bleed, or the voices of the others in the room that were just background noise to him. Even, the happiness of his sister being cured left his mind.

He only knew pain. It blanketed his mind like the furs of his bed covered him on chilly nights. It was all encompassing and brutal, oh so brutal.

It was a surprise that a voice broke through the fog his mind had become. It was not Shireen’s cries, his father’s stern voice, his mother’s doting tinkle, or Muirgen’s devoted belief in him. It was the echoing voice of Melisandre, that seductive, soothing flame that guided him back.

“You must fight Azor Ahai. This is nothing. You are the Lord’s chosen. He has filled you with his fire, his power. There is nothing in the darkness that cannot be banished by the light. So fight, Azor Ahai. Fight because the darkness you face now pales in comparison in what is to come. You must be strong. Fight!”

As her voice faded, Harry felt it.

The presence he had felt inside of himself for so long, but could never touch. The aura that surrounded Melisandre when they had first met; a feeling he had thought long gone, a memory of a past life. It was not as strong or bright as he remembered. It was a lit match in a sea of blackness, nothing much at all. But, it would have to do lest Harry succumb to the darkness in his entirety.

So, he reached for it, commanded it and it obeyed. The pulse was close to nothing, a blip in a room full of noise. Harry was thankful that was all it took. He thought he would find himself wishing that potions were an actuality in his world, but he had made due with a spark of what his magic had been.

The disease fought, raged against him, but Harry would not be cowed. He had fought through the pain and would not allow himself to be cast back. He did as Melisandre said and fought with a will that would rival the most stubborn beasts, pushed the grating feeling that loomed over him, wanting to turn his flesh and blood into stone.

If his waiting for Shireen to be healed was an eternity, then his battle with greyscale was two. But, he preserved and beat it back, equating the strain to fending off a lion with a twig.

Harry was now surer than ever that the gods did not exist. It was not the gods that talked to him, that helped him.

It was him who did it. His magic. His will. The stubbornness that had followed him across dimensions or universes or whatever anyone wanted to call it. He did it.

If the gods had been at work, if the powerful and undeniable beings that kings and peasants alike bowed to had their hand in it.

Then, Harry would not have passed out from the burden.

 

 

 


	3. Pirating the Pirates

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Re-work. Not much has changed.

**EDITED CHAPTER. NOT MUCH HAS CHANGED, BUT I REMOVED NJÖRD.**

**Cheers!**

**289 AC - Off the coast of Lannisport**

Word traveled fast in the small castle that was Dragonstone. The truth had been told, but truth quickly turned to rumor and rumor turned in gossip. Instead of what actually happened in Shireen's bedchambers coming out of men's lips, it was gossip fit for crones and maids as they sat needling. People had started to say that he was an avatar of the Seven Gods, that he was their mortal hand in Westeros. Some said he had made a pact with demons and the gods punished him for it by giving him his scar. Others had said he was studying black magic and used vile sorcery to heal his sister. Only one of them even featured Melisandre and it was by far the most innocent.

They all said so many things, but none of them bothered to ask him.

He was surprised that Melisandre had not expounded the fact that according to her, it was R’hllor who had cured Shireen and given Harry the power to fight of the curse…mostly.

Harry had tried to explain it to his parents, Muirgen, and Maester Cressen. That he could feel the disease in him, could feel it trying to further infect him. He did not tell them of how excruciating it was. That was something they did not need to know. But, he did tell them of how he ‘willed’ it back, force it to compress.

They all had trouble accepting his explanation, but who where they to say different. Maester Cressen was a well-read man, even having his Valyrian steel link, but even he could not explain how someone could take greyscale into their own body and transfer it into another.

That was not to say he battled wills and come out unscathed.

Around his left eye was a small patch of tiny scale like stone skin. Maester Cressen had said it looked like advanced stages of greyscale, the skin hard to the touch, but never had he seen it in such a stylized or magnificent pattern. Harry almost swung at the old man when he said ‘magnificent’.

The ‘scar’ took half of his brow and ended just below the eye, going away from his sight until it tapered to end just before his sideburns. Harry had seen it in a polish copper plate. He had to admit it didn’t look that bad, even made him look a bit more roguish, but it would probably scare off the girls.

His father had asked Melisandre what her boon was, a little reluctant to give anything because Harry had been infected even if he was not contagious. But, the reward was for curing his daughter, a task the red priestess had completed.

‘My only wish is to guide Azor Ahai. A great darkness approaches and he will need my guidance if he is to use the Lord of Light’s power to push them back.’

Well, that and a room to convert into a shire so she may continue her prayers to her god.

Stannis had agreed, a price he considered rather small when other men would have asked for riches, land, or prestige. He allowed her to practice, so long as it did not disturb the castle or island.

Melisandre and Harry could settle the little shrine while Stannis went to battle the Iron Born.

That had started another conversation. Not that Harry cared that the priestess wanted to make a shrine. The woman had done as she promised him, what care did he have if she wanted to continue believing in childish fantasies of gods.

No, what bothered him was that his parents expected him to stay.

His mother and father had wanted him to stay at the castle. He had just been infected and ‘cured’ of greyscale. But, Harry was adamant about being at his father's side when they went to war. It was not about glory. Harry had killed men before; he knew there was no glory in it. No, Harry wanted to go to make sure that his father came back alive and anything he could do to aid in that, he would do. It would have been a downright shame if he had saved his sister only for his father not to be around to see what a good woman she would grow up to be.

Of course, that was not what he told them. His father would have only labeled him foolish.

Harry had told them that it was his duty to help the realm in times of crisis and he would not be called lily-livered. Him, the Heir of Dragonstone, hiding behind his mother's skirt while young men his age went to war. It was an excuse that served well against both of them.

Again, his father capitulated. Again, not happy, but understanding.

The very mention of duty and his father could not argue against him. It was Stannis Baratheon who taught him about duty. And, once his father was on board, there was nothing his mother could say. Well, she did cry, and Harry felt bad for making her so, but his mother had hugged him tightly and told him she understood. She had told him she loved him and expected him to come back home whole and safe. Selyse had said she would ensure the shrine to Melisandre’s god was grand and would pray everyday for him.

He did not bother telling her that he didn’t care. It would give his mother something to do, rather than worrying about him and his…well, him.

Then, she spun like a demon-woman and ranted at his father about how it was entirely his fault, him and his damn Baratheon blood.

Harry had made a quick exit, not wanting his father to turn on him. He almost felt bad at the look of betrayal on his father's face as he left. Well, he would have if not for the comedy of the situation. Stannis Baratheon chided like a child. Oh, how the realm would have snickered at the sight.

They had sailed the next day, with Harry having to convince Melisandre to stay at Dragonstone. How would her prayer room be completed without her there to see it finished?

She smiled as if she saw through him, which was easy as his excuse was thing, but acquiesced and told him to rely on R’hllor.

‘He will watch over you and see those heathens struck down.’

His father commanded the Fury with Ser Devos to take the place of first mate and Harry had been given command of the  _Prayer_. He knew his father was doing it to make fun of him with some sick, circular irony, but Harry didn't care.

He had been given command of his own ship.

Of course, the excitement of being given command was quickly dispersed.

All hundred men avoided looking or coming into contact him. It was as if his gaze alone would infect them. Never mind that he was not contagious.

Harry had even heard whispers about him wanting to sacrifice them to the Red god as payment for his sister's life. Muirgen, his first mate, quickly put the men into place. She had pointed out that if they were to do battle with the Iron Born, then any god was a good god to have on their side. He did not bother to correct her. Men had their superstitions; it gave them answers for things that could not be explained. And there was not way in all the hells he would speak to them about magic. They might throw him into a pyre.

The wind was with them as they arrived off the coast of Lannisport. Harry could feel its gentle, but firm touch. Reassuring as the sea air had always been to him.

They were close. He could feel it in his gut.

Harry checked his armor to focus his mind. He knew that it could not exactly move on its own, but it gave him something to do.

His armor was a thing of beauty, if very simple by Southern standards. Muirgen and his father had designed it and saw that the blacksmith did their imaginations justice. It suited his need of movement and flexibility well, no doubt Muirgen's idea. She had taught him how to fight, seen him fight, it was only natural that she would know what kind of armor he needed.

His armor consisted mostly of riveted mail with only a few plate pieces of blued steel. A fact he was grateful for. He could never understand how knights could stand to be in what Harry believed was basically a steel coffin.

He wore a gorget that covered his throat and chest. At the center were two bronzed stags rearing up at each other. Pauldrons, connected to his gorget with thick leather straps, with bronze stag heads and overlapping plates that went to just above his elbow. His hands were covered with gloves and gauntlets, sectioned at the wrists, knuckles and at each joint of his finger. At his sides were overlapping plates to make his tasset that covered his outer thighs, scaled armor under the plates all secured around his waist with a thick leather belt with a hardened bronze buckle. From knee to foot he wore plain over lapping plated greaves. All his armor had leather bonded to the backs of the plates thankfully; to stop the rather obnoxious clinking and clanking some suits were prone too.

Harry's favorite part of his armor was by far his helm. Much like his armor and sword was burnt blue, so blue it was almost black. It was a Barbute design with a slight curved at the nape of the neck. It had a visor with two rectangular openings for his eyes wide enough to not block his peripheral vision and two cross-shaped openings on either side to assist with ventilation. On the left side was a hook attached to the helmet proper, used to secure the visor in it's down position by hooking to the small nub on the visor. At the top of the visor, right in between the eyes was a bronze stag head in full charge with antlers that spanned the rest of the visor like gigantic eyebrows.

The waves grew chopper the closer they drew to the Iron Fleet. He would have been grateful for the wind at their sails, but they weren't chasing the Iron Born. They were headed for a collision course.

They cut through the water with impressive timing. It would only be a matter of time before they met their foe on the field of battle, an enemy that had spent just as much time learning to fight on land as they did on the water. It would be a harsh and cruel reality when they met, but Harry was set firm in destroying as many of their ships as he could.

"Are you certain it was the right choice to pass by Sunspear without telling Princess Arianne, my lord?" Muirgen asked, breaking Harry from his musings.

"I doubt my father would have been pleased with me taking a furlough without even having been in a battle yet. I fought to be here, remember?"

Muirgen nodded, fully remembering the 'conversation' that had almost turned into a screaming match.

"She will be most displeased if I were to tell her you perished against the Iron Born."

"You should worry about me being displeased if I die against the Iron Born. I will haunt you in your sleep." Harry smirked at her. Muirgen smiled back, patting him on his shoulder in support. He knew she would not let him die, not while she still drew breath. But then again, Death had ways of making fools of them all.

Muirgen's smile vanished as she looked over his shoulder and Harry knew why.

The Greyjoy ships.

Even for as far as they were, Harry could make out the Kraken sails amongst the others. They had easily a fifty long ships and a dozen galleys; all filled with thieving, hungry reavers that would slaughter all of them given the smallest chance.

Harry could feel the nervousness of his crew. He could not fault them that. They had reason to be nervous. Iron Born were raised to be natural pirates. They sailed, sacked a city or port, and sailed away. Their philosophy of the 'Iron Price' gave them carte blanche to do it to anyone not strong enough to stop them.

What bothered Harry was that he believed his men were strong enough to stop them. They were just riddled with self-doubt. Half of them looked ready to abandon ship and swim to Lannisport. There was only one thing he could do to ease their doubt and rouse their bloodlust. If he were a lesser man, he would have tempted them with gold. But, he did not want his new crew to think he would reward them for doing their duty. It was their duty to serve the realm, to protect the innocent, and it was time for him to remind them of that.

"Muirgen, gather the men. I would speak with them."

"Yes, my lord." She replied quickly with a bow before screaming at the men of the  _Prayer_  with a volume that could not doubt he heard by the entire contingent of ships.

Harry made his way to the bow of the ship, thinking of all the words he would say to hopefully inspire them, to make them want to fight. It was the way of all great leaders led, through inspiration instead of fear. He looked at them as they gathered at the center of the ship, all eyes facing him. Harry could see their fear, their doubt, and he wanted to feel sympathy for them.

But, all it did was make him angry. His father's fleet was the only thing saving the port cities from being ravaged by reavers and these men looked like children preparing for a beating. They were expecting to lose.

When Muirgen stood at his side, Harry spoke to his crew.

"Stand tall you craven, sons-of-bitches!" That had gotten their attention. Some even had the gall to glare at him.

Good.

Unless, any of them would of told his mother about his coarse language. War veteran or not she yank on his ear until it came off and tan his hide.

"Look at you sorry lot! Looking like a bunch of dogs who had just been whipped!" They had started to murmur. Harry could practically hear them grinding their teeth.

"Are you scared of the Iron Born?"

"Yes!" a sailor from the back said, covered by too many bodies to be seen. Men nodded and muttered their agreement.

"Good! That means you know what the Iron Born are capable of!" That had gotten them to click their teeth together.

"I too share you fear! I understand your doubt! But, none of that matters right here on this day! There may come a time when good men, good men like us, allow their courage to fail. When we allow the suffering of the innocent and abandon out duties to save our own skins. But, not this day! I  _will not_  hide while innocent people suffer! I  _will not_  cower to the men who would make our families saltwives! I will fight!"

It was as if a fire had been lit, his crew looked angry at the thought of their loved ones being taken. And they should, it was an all too real possibility. But, the fire in their bellies was still weak and needed to be stoked.

"We will not just hold the line! We will take back the sea! Those bastards believe in the Iron Price and we will make them pay it! They are not stronger or braver than us! They are nothing more than thieves, stealing from those who earn their right to live by the sweat of their brow! They are cowards! Lesser men than we! But, they bleed, like you or I!"

The men began to clang weapons and shields, looking like the fierce warriors they should be. The fear and doubt replaced with anger and fury. He could see the respect in their eyes and it just drove Harry on.

"The Greyjoy may not sow, but they will reap our fury! So, FIGHT!" The men roared their approval into the sky.

"Fight for honor!" They were in a righteous clamor, growling and snarling more like beast than men.

"Fight for the man beside you!"

Harry had to shout at the top of his lungs so he could be heard above the clanking of weapons.

"Fight for the futures of your families!"

He must have been loud enough for other ships to hear, because he could hear them chanting his name. It made him bold, more courageous, a feeling he wanted to share with his men.

"Fight!"

"Fight! Fight! Fight!" They chanted, their blood in frenzy. He could see the bloodlust had taken hold and they had not even started the battle yet. He allowed them to steep in it, permitted them to gather the courage they did not have moments before.

Bravery, courage, and bloodlust: they all had a strange way of making men feel invincible. And, in turn, making them fearless.

"Man the scorpions! Ready the boarding hooks! The Iron Born wanted a battle, but we are going to give them a war!"

The crew shouted their agreement and scattered to do their pre-assigned duties. They moved like men with purpose.

Forceful.

Determined.

The Iron Born ships were almost within scorpion range. Harry knew with the wind with them they would have a chance to maybe shoot three volleys. After that, they would have to board, because Harry would be damned if he allowed any Iron Born to board his ship.

"A rousing speech, my lord. You have stirred the passion in them as only great men can." Muirgen praised, as she went over his armor one more time. She was nervous, Harry could see it even if she did not look him in the eye. He placed a hand on hers, staring up at her. It took her a moment to find his eyes, but when she did Harry gave her a smile. She gave a shaky one in return.

"You take care of yourself, Muirgen. I consider you my friend and it would sadden me greatly if something where to happen to you." He told her with sincerity.

"I am your Sworn Shield. I would gladly give my life-" Harry stopped what he already knew she was going to say. He was glad that he inspired such loyalty in her, but it would be of little condolence if she died.

"That is not a request, Muirgen Snow. You will survive this." He ordered fiercely, before allowing his small smile to return.

"We still have so many adventures to go on and I told you long ago, that I believed you would become a knight on your own. Live long enough to let me see it. Such an occasion it would be: the first woman knight, the first Dame to ever be known in all of history. Allow me to see history in the making, yes?"

Muirgen pursed her lips together and swallowed deeply. Tears were threatening to fall, but Harry would not mention it. Instead, he took her helm from her and motioned her to lean forward. As she did so, he placed it on top her head and made sure it was as snug as it could be. He knocked against the steel a few times to ensure it did not move.

"You honor me with friendship, my lord. I will live to be a knight."

"My lord," one of the crew marched up to him before rendering a salute. He was a young man, probably no older than five and twenty. "We are almost in scorpion range. What are you orders?"

Harry gave Muirgen one last smile, before setting his lips into a line of determination. He looked out to the mass of Iron Born ship. His ship was closest to the shoreline and would attack the left flank of the Greyjoy. If anywhere to pass him, then the Iron Born could dock and run, causing all sort of havoc as they fled before hopefully being captured by the Lannister men.

The scorpions would be able to sink some of the smaller longboats. A solid hit to the hull would have the longboat take on water. The boats were smaller, more of a troop carrier than a warrior ship. But, it was not the longboats Harry was concerned about. It was the war galleys.

"Focus the bow and port side scorpions to the center of the Greyjoy ranks. Have them aim for the longboats. I want a graveyard of ship before we run into something we cannot sink. Direct the stern to run straight for the first galley so that we may board them. That will allow the allied ships behind us to slip past. Keep behind a minimal crew to man the scorpions when we board. Tell the starboard side to keep a keen eye for any Iron Born ships that look like they are trying to break off. Especially, stray longboats, they will have no problem beaching."

"It will be as you say, my lord." The sailor said, giving another salute, before barking orders.

Harry drew his sword and raised it into the air.

"Remember this day men! For it will be yours for all time! When you are old, gray, and your balls are at your knees," Harry started, garnered uproarious laughter, "and your grandchildren ask you where you were on this day. You can tell them proudly you sailed upon the  _Prayer_  and boldly beat back the Iron Born, the so called 'best sailors of the sea'." Again, the men cheered and laughed heartily, their spirits much higher than when they had first spotted the enemy fleet.

"Scorpions, fire at will! Men, prepare to board and gut these sea dogs!" Harry ordered when he saw ships next to them begin the attack.

With Muirgen at his side, he made his way to the portside railing, men for the boarding party forming up behind him. The men next to them were armed with spears at the ready to cast. They hoped to cause as many casualties before boarding, giving them the advantage.

"Hold together, stay with me, and move forward as one." The boarding crew did not cheer, only nod with grim fortitude. Muirgen nodded to him and drew her sword, readying herself for the upcoming slaughter.

"If you should find yourselves alone, standing in green pastures with the sun in your face, don't be troubled." He said loud enough to be heard. "For you are in one of the seven heavens and you're already dead!"

A small chuckle rippled through them, a good sign. The fearlessness had taken ahold.

The ship was large, easily on par with the  _Prayer_. They had they own men standing, ready with hooks to latch unto his ship. But, his men were faster. Hooks sailed through the air before landing with a metallic thud. Harry's men acted like seasoned soldiers, moving without his orders. They knew what to do and Harry was glad he need not command them to do so. It allowed him to focus on the battle ahead.

As the men who cast the hooks ran towards the rear, tying down the ropes so the other ship could not escape, the spearmen launched their weapons at the Iron Born crew. They aimed for the closest men, the one armed with hooks, and felled many who could not get out of the way.

The ship was drawing closer. Thanks to his spearmen, the Iron Born who were to attach his ship were unsuccessful. Harry barely waited for the ship to get close enough before he sealed his visor into place and released a war cry. He ran forward and launched himself into the air with assistance from the railing.

His sword pierced the neck of a Greyjoy man who was wide eyed at his flight. The man fell, grasping at his neck as his life spurted out of him.

"Do you see that men! The young lord trying to take all our glory!" A voice came from his ship. Harry barely paid it any attention as his men started to clamor unto the Iron Born ship, clashing weapons and shields. Not all of the first line had made it, dying quickly as they attempted to cross the threshold. A few of them had managed to drag their attackers into the depths of the sea. Harry wanted to see how many men had been lost, but had other matters to attend to.

He did his best to clear the side of ship he landed on, but most of Iron Borns' were heavily armored and difficult to kill. Harry maneuvered himself to clear a way for his men to safely board, forcing the enemy to move back.

A brave foe swung at him with an axe. Harry slid to the side, feeling the blade wisp past his face. He spun around his opponent and chopped his sword in a wide upward arc. The blade sliced its way into the back of the man's knee, grounding him with a howl. Harry didn't wait and he didn't hesitate. With his sword already high into the air, Harry whipped his sword around from one shoulder to the other and threw his whole body into a horizontal cut. Even if it wasn't Valryian steel, his sword cut through the side of the Iron Born's neck like a hot knife through butter, separating his head from the rest of him.

It was only by sheer dumb luck he avoided an attack from the rear, a stab from a sword. His mail would have probably stopped it, but Harry was grateful he turned in time to parry the blow and not find out.

He did not back-step. Muirgen had always taught him to never back-step. Forward or around, the only two ways to move when fighting. Moving backwards allowed the enemy to gain ground and momentum. Harry stepped forward after his parry and used his pommel to bash his attacker in the face. His opponent was stunned, but Harry gave him another smash to be sure. As the man backpedaled, Harry gave a straight lunge. His aim was a little off; most likely to him being unused to moving in armor, but it was a fatal strike nonetheless. The sharp point of his sword pierced right under the man's chin, bypassing his helm, and lodging itself into his enemy's brain. Harry twisted and yanked, but the sword would not come out. So, he stepped in and landed a hard kick to his breastplate. The Iron Born stumbled back, moving as if still alive, and tumbled over the railing.

He saw movement at the corner of his eye and turned to protect himself. But, it was only Muirgen with the rest of the men.

"We stand with you, my lord." Muirgen said, standing beside him, her sword covered in gore. Harry looked back to look at the rest of his boarding party. They were bloodied, but ready for more. They were a pack of animals in that moment; faces carved into snarls.

Harry turned from eyeing his boarding team to the men who would side against them. The Greyjoy men did not look as eager as they once had. And, unless Harry's eyes deceived him, they even looked afraid.

"Well, they say they are eager to meet their Drowned god. Let's arrange a meeting."

"Aye!" came his crew's reply.

"To the railing!" Harry commanded, having the men with shields make a barrier that prevented escape. Their enemy had put up a valiant fight, but it was ultimately useless. They went to the god they were so fond of, screaming as if demons were pulling them into hell.

"Sack the ship! Take anything of value and store it below our deck!" The men cheered and ran around like mice looking for scraps. He made his way back to the  _Prayer_ , only to notice Muirgen behind him.

"Aren't you going to get your spoils?"

Muirgen looked surprise at the question. Why, Harry could not say. They were spoils of war and every man was entitled to their share.

"No, my lord. I have no need of treasure." She answered, laying her hand on his shoulder. Harry laughed at the implication, but allowed it. It was appreciated that he was so esteemed to her. He had planned to make the men split the spoils equally anyway. They had all played their part and all deserved a piece.

The sailors had made quick time of emptying the enemy ship and a few of them even had the mind to hack at the hull with their axes to sink the damn thing. He was glad his men had initiative.

As he looked out to the battle, Harry could see that his father's armada had gained ground and were slowly pushing forward. It would only a matter of time before their enemy routed.

He turned to the men, congratulating themselves on a job well done.

"I am not a man to reward men for doing their duty. My expectation of you is high and I would not patronize you." Harry had to hold back a smirk at the look on their faces. They looked like children getting their toys taken away.

"That being said, I am also not one to deny a man his wage for hard work. We earned this treasure and we sure as fuck are keeping it! Every man will get an equal share!"

That was taken collectively better. Some of the stronger men, the ones who had been able to carry more, were a little put out. But, it was better than losing all their spoils. Maybe, they could request certain trinkets that had caught their eye or trade for it later.

"Come on men! There are Iron Borns waiting to be relieved of their riches!" Harry announced, causing cheering and laughter to spread among his remaining men.


	4. Head on a Pyke

**Notes: Hope you guys enjoy. R &R!**

**CHEERS!**

**289 AC- Great Wyk**

Stannis Baratheon drew a large breath as he looked upon his victory. The air was stale with the scent of death, blood, and smoke, but it pleased him nonetheless.

His fleet had broken the Greyjoy ranks at the Fair Isles and chased the retreating ships all the way to Great Wyk, picking off some of the slower ships they could catch along the way.

Once they had arrived, it had been a short battle. A large bulk of their ships, which consequently contained many of their men, had been destroyed. The Ironborn resistance upon their arrival was fierce, as expected, but ultimately futile.

He spotted Muirgen, the tall woman not hard to find, and knew his son would be nearby. It was impossible not to surrender a small smile at his heir’s visage. His face hurt from forcing his facial muscles to submit.

Stannis was proud of his son, a young man of five-and-ten. Not only had he overcome greyscale, but also was already a veteran of war, and a victorious one at that.

Harry could have hid, shied away from the upcoming battle and Stannis would have let him. He would have encouraged it even. Harry was his son, the child who would carry his name. Stannis would have told the world that his son had done his duty by managing Dragonstone in his stead. No one would have questioned it. His brother, Renly, was close to Harry’s age and stayed at Storm’s End to ‘hold the keep’, so why would it be strange for his son?

But, much to his pleasure and chagrin, Harry was every bit his son. He did not hide inside the castle as his mother and father preferred. Harry knew it was his duty to fight for the peace of the realm and by the gods, did Harry fight.

Off the coast of the Fair Isles, his son had rallied the men of the Prayer and sunk half a dozen small longboats with his scorpions and boarded and sunk another four. With Harry’s victories alone the Greyjoy had lost over a hundred of their men and because he had ordered the ships sacked, gained treasures that he split evenly amongst his crew.

Stannis could only snort at the thought. His son was barely a man and not even a lord yet, but he now had riches to rival one. A very poor lord, but rival a lord nonetheless. He expected that at Great Wyk for Harry to take it easy, allow some of the more rested men to do most of the work. But, Harry rallied his men yet again and once more courageously charged into the fray with his sword held high.

He had asked his son, what name would he give his sword. All great swords had names. The Stark’s had Ice, the Lannister’s used to have Brightroar, the Mormont’s had Longclaw, and the Targaryen had many. Though those weapons were of Valyrian steel, Harry’s sword was no less impressive. He had slain many of their enemies with a swing of his blade. Surely, as all young men do, he would give it a great name.

But, his son, just laughed.

‘A sword is nothing without a man behind it. People say great swords all have names. I tell them, quit looking at the sword and see the man behind it.’ Harry had said to him. Stannis could not have agreed with his more. Swords were tools, the power behind them…the greatness behind them lay in men.

He took his son’s words to heart and in front of all those who could hear him after their victory at Great Wyk, Stannis named his son, Harry ‘Ironside’ Baratheon. The men of the entire fleet cheered, the crew of the Prayer more loudly than any other.

Stannis was not one to grant his son the name just because of morale. Harry had earned a title. He would have given Harry a knighthood, but coming from his father it would not have been taken seriously by many others, regardless of what part his son played at the Fair Isles and Great Wyk. But, the name was aptly given.

At the sea battle of the Fair Isles and the land battle of Great Wyk, Harry had battled more than his fair share of combatants, killed more than his fair share of men. At the land battle of Great Wyk, he did not command from the middle or rear as most commanders do. Like Stannis himself did. He was in the front, holding the line and inspiring the men.

But, throughout it all Harry had not received on scratch. He had taken some hits to his armor, some serious enough that Stannis had all but rushed to his son. But, Harry would just get back up and show the fury of the Baratheon name.

His son had fought like he was made of iron. Unyielding in his fury with a indomitable will that pushed back the enemy line better than twenty sword or spears.

Stannis spotted Ser Devos inform his son of his summons. They had won two great victories in as many weeks. Word from Pyke was that his brother’s siege would break the wall any day now. It was time to congratulate his son and for him to return home. He would reward what of his men he could time with their families before they were summoned to King’s Landing for a celebration Robert would no doubt throw in honor of ‘his victory’.

“You wished to see me father?” Harry asked, armor caked in dried blood but untroubled. That was good sign to Stannis. Many men were troubled in the mind after things they had seen or done in war. He was glad that it would not seem the case for his heir.

“Yes, you are to set sail for Dragonstone soon. The war is over.” He informed Harry, hoping to see the news brighten his son’s face. There was no doubt that his son would be missing his sister and his mother would be over joyed to have her son back.

“Balon Greyjoy bends the knee to Uncle Robert?” Came the unexpected question, with an unnecessary amount of skepticism.

“Not yet, no. But, reports say that he will break through the walls any day now. After the fortifications fall, there will be resistance, but we smashed their fleet and most of their men. The Greyjoys will have no choice; they will bend the knee or be eradicated. I will go to prove support if necessary.” Stannis said, not understanding where his son’s reluctance was coming from.

“So I am to take myself home and leave you here? I most certainly will not! What of my men? They have fought hard in his war; they deserve to see it through to its completion. They have had friends die, they deserve to see that bastard Greyjoy kneel!” Harry said heatedly.

“It’s not about what they deserve, it is about what is. This many ships are no longer needed; you have done our duty. You will take command of half the ships and sail back for Dragonstone. Assign enough to guard Blackwater Bay and give the rest time with their families. I do not particularly care how many. But, you _are_ going home.” He ordered his son. A part of him was proud for standing up to him. It showed intestinal fortitude. But, another part made Stannis grind his teeth at the rebellious attitude.

“I see…” was all Harry said before turning and posting himself on the many chests of treasure his men had gifted him in homage as their lord. His son did not looked cowed and it was that fact that Stannis could feel the headache coming.

“Men of the _Prayer_!” Harry announced loudly. The men of his ship had gathered around him, and many more were staring and listening.

Yes, definitely a headache.

“I have just received new orders. They say that we are not needed at Pyke…I am to take half the armada and go home.” Stannis expected the men to cheer. When he was met with disturbed grumblings, nothing short of getting struck by lightning would have shocked him more.

No…considering what happened to his son, not even that would have surprised him more. A grown man overcoming greyscale was just as rare as being struck by lightning.

“They say the walls around Pyke are to come down any day now, that the war…is over, but we can all go home,” Harry continued, “That bastard Greyjoy still sits in his fucking castle and all the sacrifices we have made are no longer needed…but, we can all go home.”

Never had Stannis seen such dejected men at the mention of going home.

“Well…I am not going home,” Stannis snapped his head towards his son, who wore an insubordinate smirk. The men of the Prayer looked up surprised at their commander and with something else in their eyes.

Stannis had always believed in ruling through fear, keeping the knights and lords under him in line through fear. But, it was not fear he saw in the men of the Prayer. Stannis saw hope and admiration. They wanted to sail to Pyke to fight. He was giving the opportunity to go home, to see their families, but they wanted to follow his son to more war.

It was not something he could comprehend.

“I going to get on my ship, I’m going to sail through the strait, and I’m going to kick that son-of-a-bitch Balon Greyjoy’s arse so hard! The next usurper is going to feel it.”

Men muttered and nodded their agreement between themselves. Gods bless their hearts; none of them mentioned his brother also being a usurper.

Harry himself looked proud of his words and Stannis could not blame him. His son had done one of the hardest things a lord can do: convince men to willingly lie their lives down for a cause not their own.

“Now, who wants to go home…and who wants to go with me!”

A roar ripped through the crowd. Even some men not stationed to the Prayer were cheering. Harry just nodded his head and gave him one last look. Stannis could see he was slightly regretful, not for his disobedience, but that it had needed to come to that. He could see the reluctance as Harry put his helm on his head before leaving with a war cry on his way to the ship Stannis had given him command of. The men and Muirgen were not far behind, creating a cacophony of sound as they bashed on their shields or breastplates yelling like lunatics.

“I can sabotage his ship, my lord.” Ser Devos informed Stannis half-heartedly. He glared at the landed knight for even suggesting such a thing. Though, Stannis would have been lying if he did not admit, even if only to himself, that he wasn’t tempted.

There really was no positive side for him at that moment.

If Stannis allowed Harry to do as he pleased, then Stannis himself would be seen as weak, unable to temper his son. He would be seen almost as big a fool as his idiot brother.

            Stannis could punish him for what was essentially mutiny. But, then he would be seen as a tyrant or worse…a bad father. His son was going to fight for the realm, lead men into glorious battle, and where he to punish Harry, Stannis would be seen as forbidding help.

At least, that’s what every man, woman, and child in the Seven Kingdoms would see.

They would think his son the noble hero and Stannis a craven. To hold a defeated army and conquered land, while his young son went and joined the siege of Pyke, bravely going into the breach. Stannis could only snort at what would be said about him.

Craven. Coward. Weakling. Gutless.

Those would just be from people in court. There is no telling what his lady wife would do to him. She’d murder him in his sleep if anything happened to their son.

There was only one option and it made Stannis grind his teeth.

_That damned boy and his gods-forsaken willfulness!_

“Ser Devos, take command of the men. You will hold Great Wyk and wait for me to return.” He commanded.

“If I may my lord, where will you be?” Devos asked. From the tone in the ex-smuggler’s voice, Stannis knew the man already knew the answer. He was just asking to amuse himself.

“Do not play daft,” Stannis gritted out as he gathered his antlered helm and sword. Even though he knew the words to say, they were not words he ever expected to say. They were words that were supposed to come from Robert’s lips, not his. But, it was the fact that _he_ was saying them that Stannis had an internal quarrel between sickness and bewilderment.

“I’m going to go warring with my son.”

~*~*~*~*~

**289 AC – Pyke**

To see Stannis and Harry talk was like watching a young buck lock horns with an older stag. They pushed and pushed, until one of them gave. Most people would have expected the younger to submit. But, Muirgen was not most people. She knew that once Harry got it in his mind to do something, it was as good as done. He was as overwhelming as a storm. There was no talking to him, no changing his mind, and certainly no stopping him.

He had the scars to prove it.

Sometimes being his Sworn Shield, Muirgen felt as if she had unwillingly been dump on top of a feral horse. There were only two things to do in such a situation. She could kick and scream in fear of her life or enjoy the ride. The horse was eventually going to get its way.

Needless to say, being around Harry had so far been an enjoyable ride.

The latest amusement was watching the dour and controlling, Stannis Baratheon, sit like a petulant child because he controlled nothing. He was still dour, but with his arms crossed against his chest being rather useless, it made Muirgen smile.

The Lord of Dragonstone lazing about as his younger son shouted commands…well, no one would have ever believed her if she told them. The fact that the crew’s faces lit up and worked even harder when Harry gave them a compliment probably only made it worse for the man. Gone was their fear of his touch or the sight of his scar. They looked up at him with something akin to reverence now for it. They knew he was a tough bastard and the stories they told of his ‘scar’ had changed to reflect it.

A fickle and superstitious lot sailors were.

Muirgen knew full well what kind of leader Stannis was. Fear equaled respect. He was unused to seeing a respect from inspiration. Not that Muirgen could blame him. She had seen and heard of enough news about lords and ladies to know his way of thinking was common.

“Have some sympathy for my father. He may not be the most pleasant man, but he is a good one.” Harry said, holding out a leather jug of water. She graciously grabbed it and took a pull. Muirgen was handing it back when Harry jerked his head over his shoulder. She looked as he motioned to his head towards Stannis. Her eyes widened at the suggestion. Just as she was going to urge against it Harry raised a brow.

Muirgen knew what the look meant. If she had been a lady, the groan that escaped would have shamed her.

But, she was no lady.

She was, however, sworn to him and did as he bid. Muirgen did her best to convince herself that she could power through one civil conversation with a man she did not particularly like if only because Harry told her to.

“Water, Lord Stannis?” She tried to sound polite, but doubted it came out that way.

Stannis nodded and took the leather jug. He took a pull as she sat down next to him. She accepted it back and did not comment when he sat in silence. After several completely silent moments, Muirgen was going to back to her post at Harry’s side, when Stannis finally parted his lips.

“Only a few battles and his men love him. I can see it in their eyes. They know he is their commander, but look at him akin to a father, as ridiculous at is sounds.”

Muirgen watched her liege’s father. He was not judging or jealous, merely stating fact.

“They were very impressive battles, Lord Stannis.” He looked at her, not questioning, but telling her to expound.

“At the start of the Fair Isle, your son was the first man to board the ship. Jumped straight off the railing and unto the Greyjoy ship. He slew one before the rest of us even set foot on the enemy ship. Launched himself from the railing like it was a catapult. They respected him for that. Too many lords send men to fight and die, without sharing any of the hardship, any of the risk. A lord loses and he may lose his land, his daughters, his riches, but it’s unlikely they will lose their lives.” She looked to see Stannis still listening intently.

“At Great Wyk, the men were ragged, less than seventy remaining. But, Harry urged them forward. Ask them if they would allow themselves to say that a boy of five-and-ten squashed the Greyjoy at Great Wyk by himself, while his men took a nap. He allowed them their share of spoils, but did not bribe them with it. He promised the only thing right for a man doing his duty. Much like a father would.”

“And what is that?” Stannis questioned, genuine in his curiosity.

“Honor and peace of mind. Peace that yes, they may die, but they did so in defense of what they hold dear.” She replied passionately.

“Sounds fool-hardy to me.” Stannis interjected. Muirgen snorted and shook her head. She knew that a man like him would not understand. He would never understand that while ideals such as honor and self-sacrifice were unrealistic, they were great things to believe in. And in life, whether such things were truth or not, they were worth believing in. Men of gold would betray each other for it. But, men who share blood of a covenant would never turn.

“May be it was foolish,” Muirgen stated as she stood abruptly, “but even fools are rewarded if their intentions are just.”

“Foolish actions only beget stupid consequences.” He said at her back. Muirgen turned every so slightly over her should and gave her parting shot.

“Truly? I did not think your daughter being cured by grey scale was a stupid consequence. Because even you cannot deny that Harry’s actions were foolish. Well intentioned, but foolish.” She ‘tsked’ at him while walking away, pleased that she could hear the grinding of his teeth.

~*~*~*~*~

**289 AC Pyke**

They had landed at Pyke before the walls had come down and informed his uncle of their arrival. To say that his uncle Robert was surprised by his presence would have been an understatement. He stood silent as his father gave the report on their victory at the Fair Isles and Great Wyk, informing the king that most of the fleet stayed at Great Wyk to secure the area, while Stannis and Harry had taken one ship to give reinforcements. The king had taken one look at his crew, a look that Harry did not appreciate, saw them marred and bloodied still over what they had done in his name and sneered. When his father had recommended Harry’s troops for the vanguard, the king had all but laughed in their faces.

**FLASHBACK**

“They don’t look fit enough to fight their way through a wet blanket! You want me to put them in the front?” King Robert laughed, before coughing and subduing his cough with a large pull of wine. “With my nephew of four-and-ten at its head? Are you mad, little brother? And what happened to your face anyway boy?”

Harry knew his father was to say something, but interjected.

“I had a small bout of greyscale, nothing for you to concern over. Maester Cressen said I was clear of the infection.” Bless their hearts they did little but look bewildered, his uncle commenting that Cressen was a good man.

“I am five-and-ten uncle, and my crew and I have killed more Ironborn than any man in the vanguard you have now, all in your name and in the protection of the kingdoms’ peace. They deserve more than your jeers and pity.” Harry ground out, a habit he was no doubt inherited from his father. Stannis’s hand on his shoulder and a hiss of his name was the only thing stopping him from approaching the king any closer.

His uncle Robert drew himself up to an impressive height. Harry noticed how broad his uncle was, how intimidating. He looked more a bear than a stag. It was not hard to see how easy it would be for him to cow other men. But, Harry would not allow him to so freely talk down to the men who had willingly laid their lives down not only for Harry, but ultimately for their king.

“Watch it boy,” Robert growled, “nephew or not, I will not tolerate such disrespect. And they are my men to begin with. I am king and will look at them how I damn well please.”

“Robert…” tried Lord Eddard Stark, reaching for the king’s shoulder.

“No, Ned! I will not have it!” He said glaring down at Harry.

Harry met his uncle’s glare and shrugged off his father’s hand. His father hissed at him warningly again, but Harry would not back down. His uncle would not bully him, not when it came to the honor of him and his men.

“Your men are they?”

“Aye! My men!” Robert said, stepping towards Harry until they stood plate to plate.

“Then, I must commend Your Grace for being such a brilliant commander,” Harry began, his uncle and Lord Stark looking at him peculiarly, “to be able to command the men of my ship from here while they fought at the Fair Isles and Great Wyk. The gods must truly favor you if they carried your voice so far.” He retorted thickly in mocking compliment.

Lord Stark looked away to hide a smile and Harry could feel his father’s own triumphing smirk at the back of his head. The king looked positively furious for a moment, glancing over his shoulder to see Ned looking away. Seeing his old friend laugh seemed to take away some of his uncle’s fury. After a tense moment of another stare, King Robert released a large bellowing laugh.

“Ha! You sure you’re your father’s son? You remind me of myself at your age! Doesn’t he Ned?”

“He certainly has a spirit to him.” Lord Stark said, not completely agreeing. But, Harry appreciated the compliment nonetheless. The king regarded Harry for a moment before nodding.

“You think your man enough to lead the vanguard? So be it,” He turned to look at Harry’s father, “something happens to him, I will not be the one explaining it to your wife, little brother.”

Harry nodded, before looking at the look on his father’s apprehensive face. He could hear Lord Stark protest, saying that he was too young to be at the front. If the man only knew that Harry had always been at the front. At the Fair Isles, at Great Wyk, in all the battles of his past life, Harry had been at the front. He would not put his men in danger that he was not himself willing to face.

“Why?” He asked his father when they were farther away from the King and Warden of the North. His father looked down at him before staring out to the castle.

“You wanted to see Greyjoy kneel enough to disobey me. Then, I would see you have it,” Stannis had replied, “You best not disappoint me by dying. If you do, have the courtesy to kill me first. I’d rather die here than have your mother do it while I slept.”

Harry was sure that it was one of the few times his father every came to a joke and he gave a scoff of a laugh.

“If we died here, I’m sure mother would find some way to nag both of us, even in death.” He quipped to both of their laughter.

**END FLASHBACK**

After a portion of the wall had come down a wave of Ironborn had rushed through the breach to meet them. The some of the vanguard, men who did not know Harry, ignored him when he shouted for them to stay in formation and stupidly ran forward. He could not help but curse as they were cut down, many clashing with two or more opponents at once.

Harry had the vanguard move at a slow pace, behind a strong shield wall. It was a methodical pace, pushing and systematically stabbing and hacking at anyone in the way, but they eventually made it through the gap in the wall around Pyke. Once through the wall, Harry ordered the men to spread out more, to not get bogged down in the hole or in the narrow corridors of the streets. He, Muirgen, and his father pushed their way to the Keep, killing more and more of the Ironborn that had been left behind.

Once inside the castle, men of the _Prayer_ ran forward to clear his way, but Harry had told them to keep Balon alive. He had been slowly making his way, ensuring everything was clear, when he had found his men. Three of them slaughtered, butchered to death by a young man.

Harry understood that they were in war and that his men and he could die. Death and war came hand in hand. But, that was not the reason he was pissed off. The reason Harry was furious was because though death was inevitable in war, the bastard looked to enjoy that he had killed them. He took pleasure in it.

“You this Ironside, these men were yapping about. Kept saying some Ironside fellow would avenge them. Well, before they died that is. I’m Marion Greyjoy as it were and who would you be?” he asked condescendingly.

“Aye, I’m him, Harry Baratheon.” Harry said bringing his sword to the ready. “They were right. Before this day is through, I will see you kneel or dead. Either works for me.”

Marion just scoffed, throwing aside an axe. He twirled his remaining sword and motioned for Harry to strike. But, Harry wasn’t stupid. He would not rush dumbly, would not allow his emotions to rule him. He had been hoping the Greyjoy to surrender at the sight behind Harry, but it was only a small hope.

They stood, Harry in a low guard and Marion’s sword held in front of him haphazardly, and waited. Harry could hear others coming up behind him, but paid them no attention. They had cleared the halls and his father and Muirgen would handle any enemies that came.

It was Marion to strike first, a testing blow that was half-hearted at best, but Harry punished him for it. He parried the light stab and countered with one of his own. The young man was wearing full plate, so Harry did not stab at the normal vitals. He gave a quick stab to Marion’s exposed elbow, sliding his blade in between the elbow guard and pauldron. Marion screamed when Harry’s blade parted skin. It was a superficial wound at best, but it would smart like nothing he had ever felt.

The Greyjoy growled, getting into a more serious stance. Harry didn’t care. The Greyjoy was dead; he just didn’t know it. They slashed at each other, locking blades.

Harry snarled as he pushed forward, but allowed Marion to push him back with a roar. He tilted out of the way of a lunge and returned with a slash at Marion’s head, the sound of a steel sword clanging against the steel helm rang loudly. It was not a mortal wound, but Marion’s head would ring like a septum bell.

Harry blocked a slash and locked blades again, but he only allowed the stalemate to continue for a second before twisting out of the way and slamming his pommel into the Greyjoy’s face.

Marion screamed, his mouth full of blood, and charged forward again with his sword high. Harry dodged the first two cleaves, leaning away from the blade as it swiped past him. On the third, he stepped forward and locked swords. As Marion attempted to push him again, Harry raised his sword into a high block, tilted his body away, and let Marion’s sword slide down the blade. He pushed at the Greyjoy’s elbow, further pushing him off line, and slashed down at behind his enemy’s knee as he passed.

Again, the Greyjoy screamed in pain as Harry’s sword again found flesh. When Marion stood up, despite the agony in the motion, Harry had to give the Ironborn some measure of respect. It wouldn’t save him, but Harry mentally complimented the Greyjoy’s determination.

Harry stayed in his low guard, slowly creeping towards his injured opponent. Marion threw quick strikes. He had learned from his mistakes and not locked blades, but Harry dodged and parried his blows away. He might be injured, but Harry knew he was still dangerous and it was safer to let the Greyjoy tire himself before going in for the kill.

His moment came when Marion came with a strong, two-handed diagonal slash. He was clearly expecting Harry to dodge as he had previously done, but that’s what Harry wanted him to think. He stepped forward and brought his sword up to block. He could see the Greyjoy’s eyes widen in excitement when his blade failed to make contact.

But, Harry wasn’t trying to block with the blade.

Marion’s sword sliced into the hilt of Harry’s sword, a few widths of hair away from his supporting hand. Harry took the moment of surprise to latching one hand around Marion’s blade into hand, pinching it in between his fingers and palm. Harry’s sword, at perfect height because of the risky block, was thrust straight through the opening of Marion’s kraken helm. There was a sickening squelch as metal parted skin, bone, and matter.

Harry watched as his enemy died with a sword through his eye. He twisted and yanked it out foe good measure. There was a degree of satisfaction in him, to know that he had avenged his men. He didn’t know their names, their stories, but they were his men. Harry felt a measure of responsibility to see them avenged and he had done it. Marion’s body had settled to die on his knees, a position Harry would see his father in.

“Ha! You see that, Ned! That’s my nephew! Never let it be said he is not a man of his word! Kneeling and dead!” A booming voice japed in bad manner behind him. Turning over his shoulder, Harry saw that his uncle and Eddard Stark had joined his father and Muirgen. They had been watching. He did not know why, but it made him feel all the better that he had won.

It would have been entirely embarrassing if he died while they watched.

“A good kill, young Baratheon.” The Lord of Winterfell said solemnly. Harry knew what he meant. He wasn’t complimenting him on killing the Greyjoy, but glad that Harry had killed him quickly. Many would have humiliated Marion. Harry had made it clean. As clean as a sword through the eye could be, but still it was the sentiment that counted.

But, he had no idea how to reply to that.

“Its just Harry, Lord Stark.” Harry finally settled on. The older man smiled. Probably glad for a little levity in a rather situation.

“Harry, then.” The Warden of the North said with a small bow of his head.

“Enough of this! Listen to you, sounding like a bunch of women with all your talking.” The king announced as he pushed past them to the door Marion had been guarding, carelessly pushing the dead body out of his way.

His uncle saw the door and raised his war-hammer, swinging the clumsy weapon with the strength he had been infamous for. The wood splintered, but the door did not give. King Robert looked at the door, then at his weapon as if it was faulty.

“Muirgen, get the door please.” Harry asked his Sworn Shield, who easily stood as tall as his uncle. He could attest to her strength. He had never met anyone of House Mormont, but if Muirgen’s strength was any testament to it, then Harry fully supported a bear for their sigil.

“Yes, my lord.” Muirgen replied dutifully. She snatched a round shield from a near by warrior, much to the man’s protest and looked at the king as if to say ‘move aside’.

“A woman?” His uncle exclaimed, “If you think a woman can-“

What ever his uncle was to say was quieted when Muirgen charged forward with a roar, shield held at her shoulder. The door didn’t do anything as spectacular as explode inward or come off its hinges. But, she did hit it with enough force for the bolt and catch to break and allow the door to open on its own.

Everyone in the hall stared comically at Muirgen and the door, none more so than the king who again looked at his war-hammer as if it betrayed him.

“I’m sure you weakened it substantially, Your Grace.” Harry finally said, much to everyone’s muted laughter.

“Of course I did! I may not be as young as I used to be, but if I hit the blasted thing one more time it would’ve turned into kindling!” His uncle boasted. The king did though give an approving nod to Muirgen, just as Lord Stark gave one to Harry at his comment.

They made their way behind the King as they walked into the ‘throne room’ of Balon Greyjoy.

The sight of him made Harry growl. He was an old man, frail with grey hair already starting to fall out. The wrinkles on his face were plenty and the weather of the Iron Isles hand not done his skin any wonders, it looked like over boiled leather that sagged off his bones. Harry knew the looks could be deceiving, but he could not believe that this was the man that the Ironborn had willingly went to war for. The man looked ready to keel over at any second.

Their overwhelming defeat of his forces may have had something to do with that though.

“Balon Greyjoy, you are charged with treason against your king, Robert Baratheon, and piracy against the Seven Kingdoms. Kneel before him and you may be shown leniency.” Lord Stark commanded him, his hands resting on the Valyrian greatsword, Ice.

The rest of them had surrounded him, swords already drawn.

“The Greyjoy do not kneel. We are Ironborn.” Balon hissed, hand on his sword as if to draw.

Harry could have let the man die a gruesome death, but that would have been too easy for him. Balon’s greed was the reason his men had to die. Without the stupid rebellion, they would have been back at home with their families. He would not allow the Greyjoy to die a martyr’s death.

He sprang forward quickly, slapping at the man’s hand with the flat of his blade before rearing his free hand back and slamming his gloved hand into Balon’s face. The blow set the older man to the floor with no trouble. Harry took his sword and slid it between the old man’s armor and sword belt. With a quick flick of his wrist, the would-be king of the Iron Isles was disarmed. He grabbed what few strands of hair Balon had left and drew him up, Harry’s foot at the back of his knee to keep him kneeling. He leaned in close, sword across Balon’s throat.

“I have already killed your son, it would be no difficulty giving you a second mouth and watching you flop around the floor like a fish as you spit your life unto this fucking floor.” He threatened.

“You lie!” Balon insisted, turning to look at Harry. He must have seen the truth in his words because his teeth were clenched together, threating to crack the bone, before looking aware. He let out a crying moan of pure suffering and Harry let the man drop to the stone floor, but not before kicking aside his weapon.

They all allowed the old man to weep and shout for the death of his child, even his normally tactless uncle. It was a small mercy they bestowed upon him. The fact his two eldest sons were dead, his rebellion a failure, and the amount of war reparations he would have to pay would only make the wound all the more deeper.

The least they could do was permit him to wallow in his anguish for a few minutes.

~*~*~*~*~


	5. An Old Lesson Revisited and Family

**NOTES: This chapter and a few others after it are a bit fast paced, mostly filling in the time before the start of Game of Thrones. But, I still wanted the chapter to have some depth and feeling, not mindless filler. Hopefully, I accomplished my task.**

**Special Thanks to GenoBeast and coldblue for their prospectives. They have been very detailed in their reviews. Coldblue if you want answers to those questions, you gotta PM me. I don’t want people who don’t want to know to accidentally read it and curse me for putting it up.**

**Guy and gals, I have been getting some pretty depressing PM’s and reviews. I wrote this story with a lot of hope and anxiety at actually posting a story I wrote. A few of them have been really good at critiquing, so I am grateful for that. But, man, some of them just say it sucks. I mean I got no problem with people saying it sucks, but what can I do to make it better. It seems as if the longest reviews I get are people saying this thing blows.**

**Well, ladies and gentlemen, I will not let it get me discouraged. For every negative review I get, there are more than ten that say they enjoy it. It is for those readers and myself that I post this. To everyone who reviewed, to everyone who PM’d me to say that they loved the story: thank you. Sincerely, thank you. I never understood how hard it was to post stories people wrote, but now I do. I also know how…gratifying it is for everyone to ask questions or when I get e-mail notifications that I got reviews, follows, and favorites. I want this story to be near the top of the HP/GoT section in all three sections. And that will only happen because of all of you.**

**So, thank you. This early release is for you guys.**

**Cheers**

**~Jin**

**290 AC – Dragonstone**

            The entire hall was alive with commotion. Men drank and ate, grabbed serving girls in their drunken stupor, and sang merrily to their victory. They had just arrived home and were invited to Dragonstone to feast to their triumph over the Grejoy fleet at the Fair Isles. Many boasted great deeds, telling tall tales, as men who had too much ale in them tend to do.

But, none crowed louder than the men of the _Prayer_.

They spoke boisterously and often to anyone willing to hear their story, which was everyone, about the tenacity of their commander, a young man of five-and-ten who was the first to board their enemy’s ships. Some of the stories were far-fetched: Harry had slew twenty men single handedly, he jumped the height of five men to cut down an Ironborn, and Muirgen’s personal favorite, Balon Greyjoy shook in fear at Harry’s gore covered armor so much that he could do nothing but buckle and bent the knee not to the king, but Harry himself.

She laughed because all those stories had some measure of truth. Harry had killed twenty men, more actually if they counted Great Wyk. He had jumped off their ship to board the Greyjoy, but it was only a man and a half high at most with the assistance of the railing. And, Harry did make Balon Greyjoy bend the knee, but with his fist and sword rather than pure intimidation.

Still, it made for entertaining stories.

He had earned a knighthood when they went to King’s Landing, knighted by his uncle for heroic services to the realm. A fact that his father, Stannis, was immensely proud of and his mother swooned about. Lady Selyse had not stopped painting her son in the picture of a brave heroic knight all little girls had read about when they were young.

Though Muirgen knew the truth. Harry had lived all his life like an honorable knight. At least, as long as she had known him. He did not need the title for her to know that much true.

But, it was also true that in combat, a dirtier fighter she knew none.

‘Honor is how one’s lives their lives, in a fight its all about surviving. Honor and survival tend to be contradictory’, he had said to her once. But, once was all that was needed for Muirgen to have the saying memorized.

Others had been knighted as well, but Muirgen paid them no mind. They were of little consequence to her. The king had also recognized her for her strength and ordered a commission for a flanged mace, made of castle-forged steel, which he paid for with the Crown’s coin. Honestly, she liked the weapon; it reminded her much of home. The women of House Mormont were known for their use of a mace. And though she was an unrecognized bastard, they had treated her well before she left to come into Harry’s service.

It was no knighthood, but it was more than she could expect because of her gender.

At the feast, she sat at Harry’s right hand, since he did not have a wife yet. They spoke of the battles and compared them to their travels, telling Lady Selyse more about their time abroad and retold some of the others. They left the more gruesome aspects, using euphemisms to avoid harsher terms.

The hall was louder and wilder than Lord Stannis would have liked, but said nothing and allowed the loyal men their fun. Such an occasion was good for morale, as it allowed them to celebrate not only their victory, but also the good men and friends they had lost.

Harry stood and rapped his hand on top of the table to gather everyone’s attention. Everyone was quick to hush seeing the young man many openly proclaimed much respect for. The Fair Isles and Great Wyk were generally seen as victories of Stannis Baratheon, but the men knew who had led the charge at Great Wyk and later the vanguard at Pyke.

Once the men were quieted, Harry walked around the table with a mug of ale in one hand.

“I want to make a toast,” The men cheered and raised their glasses, “To the good men who sacrificed themselves for the protection of the Kingdoms, may the rest peacefully now.”

“Here, here!” came the reply in agreement.

“To the men of the _Prayer_ who stood by me. Who soldiered on through the storm of the seas and the muck of Pyke!”

“Here, here!” came from the knights who sailed with Harry. They were fewer in number than the grand hall, but just as loud.

“History will never forget that we good men stood against brigands, pirates, and slavers! That we stood face-to-face with men who hailed themselves the best sailors of the seas and we sent those bastards to their Drowned god!”

The knights gathered didn’t bother with words, instead roaring their approval so loudly the stones of the hall shook.

“History will never forget because we will never let them!” Harry down the rest of his mug and threw the cup in the center of the room; a clamor of other cups soon followed.

“But, I have my own personal thanks to give. I would do it publically, so all here may witness.”

Harry turned to the high table that Muirgen and his family sat at, his mother cradling little Shireen.

“First, to my father, who had so much faith in my abilities he gave me my first command. I will strive to never cause you to question such an appointment.” Stannis bowed his head in acknowledgement, the small smile he had hidden behind a hand he used to prop his chin.

“To Ser Davos, who taught me just as much as my father did about sailing,” Ser Davos bowed, but Harry had to add, “Even though, it was mostly about avoiding ships than actually warring with them.”

The men in the hall laughed raucously, slamming their fist on the tables at the jape. Any other man would have reddened in embarrassment but, Davos took it took it for what it was and laughed as well.

“Lastly, to Muirgen Snow, my Sworn Shield.” Muirgen felt uncomfortable as all eyes were on her, but she kept her lord’s eye.

“She kept me safe from thieves as I traveled all over the Seven Kingdoms and stayed by my side as we crushed the Greyjoys. She taught me to fight, how to maintain armor, and has been an ever loyal friend.”

Harry pulled out his sword to the surprise of the room.

“As I said on the _Prayer_ , I would not patronize you with bribes for duties required as men of the realm. But, I would see you keep what rewards you earn. And this has been a reward long in the making,” Everyone knew what Harry was going to do and ironically enough, none seemed too surprised at it. Though, she could see still some had astonished looks.

“Muirgen Snow,” Harry said as he turned to her with a grin and nodded to the ground in front of him, “Take a knee.”

It was with disbelief and shaky steps that she made her way to the man she had sworn to. She had served him faithfully and with devotion, but it had been an easy task. Harry was not a hard person to like and an even easier person to serve. He did not ask things of her that he would not do himself. He took honor more seriously than any other person she had known. Considering Muirgen grew up in the North, it was a compliment not given lightly.

She was finally going to achieve her greatest dream.

Due to the unexpected wonder, Muirgen knew she would have to give him his surprise earlier than expected. Well, it was more a request than a gift, but she knew that Harry would appreciate it.

Harry touched her shoulder with his sword, alternating shoulders as he spoke each line.

“In the name of the Warrior I charge you to be brave. In the name of the Father, I charge you to be just. In the name of the Mother, I charge you to defend the young and innocent. In the name of the Maid I charge you to protect all women…Arise Dame Muirgen Bearstone!”

She stood, forcing the joyful tears that wanted to spill back. Muirgen would not allow the others to see her cry, even if they were tears of happiness. Harry placed a hand on her shoulder, reaching up to touch her.

“Thank you…for allowing me to see history, my friend.” He said with a proud smile.

“This changes nothing. I still swear to serve you and only you. Until the end.” She replied, placing her opposite arm on his shoulder as well. It was only then that she realized he was not as small as he used to be, that her lord had grown into a fine man.

“Until the end,” Harry repeated, only for her ears to hear. “But, I am not done.”

            He looked to one of the servants standing near the door and motioned. When the servant returned, he led in a large courser. It was the most beautiful animal she had ever seen. It was large, strong, and golden with white markings. The hair was short and a darker shade of gold, almost tan, and silken to the look.

            “Every knight must have a good horse.” Harry said as she approached the stallion. The beast nodded into her hand and neighed, obviously pleased to meet her. “It will be in the stables when you have need of it.”

            Muirgen did not want to send her steed to the stables at that moment; she wanted to ride it around the island. But, she knew that it would have been improper to mount the thing and speed off. She gave nodded to the servant, who still had the reigns, to take the animal to be fed and watered.

            “You give too much, my lord.” She said, returning to Harry’s side, noticing the other knights admire her horse as it was led away.

            “What kind of lord would I be if I made you a knight, but didn’t give you a horse?” Harry asked, as if it was the most common thing in the world to buy knights expensive horses. She only needed a look to know the beast was no doubt expensive.

He made to return to his seat, noticing the men were still looking to them to see if there would be any more announcements. But, Muirgen stopped him.

            “The time of giving is not done, for I too, have a gift for my lord.” Muirgen nodded to the same servant Harry had done. They would have to wait a moment as her gift was fetched, but she was giddy in anticipation.

            Finally, a young girl was brought in, a girl too young for the men to leer at or jest that she had brought him a bed warmer. But, she could not be used for either, the look on her face less than welcoming.

            Her hair as black as coal and cut short with eyes that could rival the sky on a clear day they were so blue. She was a strapping little girl, well-muscled and dressed in masculine clothing finished with a heavy coat to stave off the chill of the sea wind.

Muirgen could see the question in Harry’s eyes and returned his look, projecting her want for him to be patience a while longer and she would explain.

She led the girl by her shoulder and planted her a respectful distance in front of Harry.

“My lord, many years ago, you gave me a chance to better myself, a chance to rise above my station as a bastard. With that chance I became a knight. I would ask you do the same for this girl by making her your squire with a promise of knighthood should she prove herself.” Muirgen stated for the entire hall to hear. She had barely finished speaking when they murmured amongst themselves, no doubt criticizing her for her audacity. But, she did defend her statement. After all, she did not rise to where she was by being meek and humble.

“She is strong, able, and will serve you proudly. I will assist in her teaching if need be.”

Harry stepped close, eyeing the girl. He gripped one of her arms, testing her muscles as he made noises to himself.

“With you teaching her, I have no doubt she would become a formidable warrior. You did help train me after all,” he said to Muirgen, before addressing the girl.

“What is your name?”

“Mya Stone.” Mya replied surely, not at all ashamed of her bastard name.

“And how did you meet Dame Bearstone?” Harry stopped Muirgen from answering. She knew why. It was a test, like the one he had given her long ago. The one where he peered into her eyes and drank in her words to judge them.

“Years ago, you traveled to the Vale. I saw her, clad in armor, and thought her a knight. We spoke, she told me that she was not a knight, but one day hoped to be. She wanted to rise above her station. I told her that one-day, I would do the same. If she believed she could, then I knew I could as well.” Mya replied passionately.

Harry stared into the young girl’s eyes, his own brilliant in the light of the torches that lit the room. He was judging her, but she stared right back, unwilling to back down and unafraid to be judged.

“And that is why you want to be my squire? For better station?”

“I want to prove them wrong.” She replied voice steeped in determination, fire burning in her eyes.

“Who?”

“All of them. All of the people who look down at me, who think I will never amount to anything.” She stepped into his space and Muirgen wanted to smack her forehead. Mya was not doing a very good job at making Harry endearing of her. But, then again, Muirgen had picked her because of Mya’s attitude. She should not have expected anything less.

Meek women did not make history.

“You once said to Muirgen, that anyone could become great if they but had the constitution. She made it so and I will do so. I will become one of the greatest knights the entire world has ever seen.” Mya testified.

She was a fierce sight for a young girl, reminded Muirgen of herself when she was young.

Harry just stared. Other men would have laughed in her face or smacked her down for her impudence. But, Harry just…stared.

Muirgen held her breath, hoping Mya would pass whatever test Harry had cooked up in his mind. Mya was brash and frankly a little rude, but she was indomitable. It was a quality that she knew Harry would appreciate, especially if Mya had the same attitude towards loyalty and honor.

Harry surprised the whole hall went he burst into laughter. It was a giant, infectious type of laughter that had him throwing his head back. The entire hall laughed with him, but probably not all of them for the same reason.

Muirgen could see Mya conflicted by it, but held the girl back from doing something she might regret and pulled her back to her original distance. Harry might have been one of the nicest persons she had ever met, but that didn’t mean he wasn’t dangerous.

“Very well.” Harry finally stated when he had gathered enough breath to speak. “I would see you accomplish all this. Should you have the disposition I have said, the spirit you speak so brazenly about, I’ll help you get what you want. But, I won’t promise you a knighthood. Muirgen will decided whether you deserve to be a knight.”

Muirgen’s eyes widened at the implication. The girl had meant to be Harry’s. Muirgen might have taught him to fight, but Harry had shown her all what being a knight meant to be. She could see the gleam in his eyes, the way they glittered as some scheme developed in his head.

It seemed as if her ride with Harry was going to become even more interesting.

“I have given my gift to the realm. I gave it a true Dame, one of honor and who has served with distinction. If the world will have any more Dames, then let the first give it to them. Let that be the legacy of the Bearstone name; the House of Great Dames...with the occasional knight.” He joked lamely, the crowd giving a small rumbling laughter.

Muirgen smiled and nodded, knowing better than to argue. Harry was a stubborn thing after all. There was just no saying ‘no’ when his mind was set. And she would follow, Just as she had always done. It had worked out well so far.

She fell to her knees, taking Mya down with her. Muirgen could see the questioning look, but Muirgen only had eyes for Harry.

“We of House Bearstone,” that had gotten a shocking gasp from the crowd. Muirgen could not blame them. In front of all there to witness, she had taken a bastard girl into her House without warning. She would have been shocked if Harry had done the same. It pleased her that Harry just gave a pleased grin.

It was good for Muirgen to know that she could still read him. She had had a feeling of what her lord wanted to do, and there was no time like the present to enact it. Doing so later would have been suspicious.

“Promise to serve Lord Harry ‘Ironside’ Baratheon proudly, faithfully, and with unquestioning devotion.”

They were the words she had spoken before. But, it was different as well. When Muirgen had become his sworn shield, she had only pledge her own life. With the renewing of the oath, she promised him her life and all those that would come after her. He had given her everything she could ever want. She had nothing to give him in return, but her loyalty. And he would have it. She would give him the only she was able.

Muirgen would give him more swords than the Iron Throne.

~*~*~*~

Stannis griped the parchment in his fingers tightly, almost crumbling the offending document in his hand. The golden wax seal was supposed to bring a sense of pride in him. It was the sigil of their house, the sigil of their fathers, and their fathers before them. It was a symbol to be feared, respected, and cherished.

But, it did nothing but fill him with disgust and hatred. The name signed at the end of the page only further fueled the fire in his blood.

He had read the damned thing over and over, willing the words to change. It was a stupid notion; words would not change with a thought. But, a part of him still wanted them too.

His brother, King Robert, had ‘requested’ something of him that he did not want to give. But, Stannis would not disobey. It would grate at his very core, the very essence of his being. That was why the burning in his chest killed him. His mind warred with his heart. His sense of duty clashed with his love for Harry.

Robert worried, unnecessarily in Stannis’s opinion, about another Greyjoy Rebellion. He wanted to solidify the bond, have something that would bring them to heel. It was not good enough that Balon’s only remaining son would foster at Winterfell, it was not enough that they had decimated the Iron Born fleet, that it was his son that lead the vanguard and forcefully made Balon bend the knee.

 _The fucking cunt wants my son too,_ Stannis thought angrily, throwing the parchment into the fire. As if the flame could feel his ire, it devoured the message quickly. He made to slam his hands unto the table, but controlled himself. His anger was still present, but he managed to bring it to a simmering.

His brother had brokered a deal with the decrepit Greyjoy, the backroom-dealing bastard did. Robert had all but demanded that Balon agree to promise his daughter’s hand in marriage. Stannis knew there was more than his brother was telling him. Robert was not one for diplomacy or one with a clever tongue.

 _Unless it was to lick one of his whores_ , Stannis growled in disgust.

He was not a daft man. He knew there was only one thing that would make Balon agree to foster his son and betroth his daughter. Robert had threatened his lordship, the seat of Lord Paramount of the Iron Islands. Balon would give anything to keep his power. But, it was not as if he was paying any true price. His daughter would be married to a lord befitting her station and his son would be fostered with Eddard Stark, who would do nothing to treat the boy wrong.

Stannis was stewing in his anger when a knock came. He tried to keep it all under a façade of calm. It was one of the hardest things he had ever had to do. And he had withheld a siege for a year, bowing down to baser natures that no man should ever have to. With that in mind, it was still harder to keep his composure.

“Enter.” He barked, seeing his son do as he was commanded with a small smile on his face.

His son.

The heir he had hoped for after three miscarriages. The child he loved and saw grow into a good, if albeit rebellious, young man. Stannis felt something he had not in a long while.

He felt undeserving.

Harry had done Stannis proud at the Fair Isles, at Great Wyk, and at Pyke. Harry had done so much, so much for their name. And Stannis could do nothing to protect him, to save the reputation he had earned. Soon, the realm would forget all of Harry’s actions. They would only see the one thing he had not contributed to.

_Marrying a traitor’s daughter._

“You wished to see me father?” Harry asked smiling, but confused as to why his father looked ready to eat his tongue.

“Sit.” Stannis commanded with after a nod.

“Leave us Dame Muirgen.” He ordered after Harry had complied, a quizzical expression plaster across his face. His temper started to flair when the woman gave no intention to move.

“Guard the door.” Harry said over his shoulder with a nod. Muirgen gave a silent bow before exiting, not paying Stannis’s glare any mind.

“What did you wish to discuss father?” came the question he had been dreading. It made him feel worse that his son sounded pleased. Still happy from the feast, happy for finally giving his Sworn Shield what she deserved, and pleased from acquiring a squire. Stannis had never thought his heart could break after three failed births, but he was wrong.

“I have a request from the king.” He started, pulling out two cups and a bottle of strong rum he had kept in his desk. The thing was barely touched. Partially because he rarely used his study enough in Dragonstone, being at King’s Landing more times than not, and because it was a particularly good rum. Stannis poured healthy portions before handing Harry one, much to the younger man’s surprise.

“I do not think I will like where this is headed, father.” Harry stated, taking a healthy gulp from his rum. Normally, Stannis would comment, but not that time. Harry would need more than a mouthful, probably need the whole bottle. Seven hells, they both would.

His son was like the sea. Relaxing and pleasant when calm, but when angered a man could do nothing but tie himself to the mast and pray.

Harry’s spirit was an ill combination between the fury in his blood and his mother’s temperament.

Not a good thing to rouse.

Thinking of Selyse only brought another problem for Stannis. How in the Seven Hells was he going to explain Harry’s betrothal to his wife? She had notions of their son marrying a proper lady, a beauty that would give them beautiful grandchildren.

Not a Greyjoy.

_She’s going to fucking smother me in my sleep._

“It is about your betrothal.” Stannis immediately put the cup to his lips and swallowed the alcohol as if would cure him. Cured him, drown him, either would have been preferable to the ringing in his ears as his son roared, “WHAT?”

Harry jumped to his feet, slamming his cup on his father’s desk. The innocent object in between his fingers threatened to deform as he squeezed around it as if to strange it. All propriety, all thoughts of respect and etiquette left Harry at his father’s words.

They glared at each other. Stannis had felt bad about the situation, horrible even. But, he would not allow his son who was also evidently not happy take it out on him. It was not his choice. Not his fault.

Harry was the first to give, knowing that he had been in the wrong. It was only when he passed the word ‘betrothal’ did he remember it was a bid from his uncle. Though, Harry knew ‘request’ was a civil understatement.

“Who?” He asked, much weaker and downed the rest of the cup before taking the bottle on the desk and pouring another. It was to the brim, not half way as before. If it had come from the king and not through his mother, then already Harry knew he was not going to like it. His mother would at least ask his approval.

“Yara Greyjoy, Balon’s daughter,” Stannis damn near spit when he said the Lord Paramount of the Iron Island’s name.

He fully expected his son to lash out again. It was a surprise when he spoke calmly.

“She will hate me. I killed her older brother and literally put her father on his knees. What kind of marriage would we have?” The question was rhetorical, but logical. They both knew the answer: a bloody horrible one. Bloody being more apt and literal than figurative.

Stannis could not find the words. He was not one for poetry or meaningless platitudes; they have never meant anything to him before. But, they had at that moment when his son looked so…broken. His son, Harry ‘Ironside’, who commanded and slayed men looked dejected. It almost made Stannis want to rebel.

However, his son was full of surprised that night. Just as Stannis was going to try and comfort him, knowing he would fail, but would try anyway, Harry looked up at him fiercely. His eyes glowed in the little fire of his office.

“This will keep the peace?” Harry grit through grinded teeth, a habit Stannis was not happy to take responsibility for.

“Yes. Keep the peace and form an alliance with the Greyjoy.” He informed his son, but Harry scoffed.

“Alliance? Forged with what? Smoke?”

Stannis was furiously thinking on how to lighten the burden on Harry, something that would make it all not seem so bad. He had never had to before. His son was strong in will. He had made that obvious recently at Great Wyk. Thinking of the name brought an idea to Stannis; one that would take Harry’s mind off his betrothal to the treasonous bastard’s daughter.

He wanted to say that it was Harry’s duty, but even Stannis could not find himself believe the words in his own mind.

“It will not all be bad. Not only do you have two years, but she’s a Greyjoy, she’ll have your love of sailing.” Stannis tried.

Harry glared at his father. It was a poor attempt too sooth his ire, he knew, but it did little. He seethed on the inside. There was a rumbling in his chest that he wanted to release, to lash out. It was only looking into his father’s eyes and seeing the same conflict within him that stayed Harry’s hand. Stannis was taking it as much of a slight as Harry was, for different reasons, but neither of them was happy with the arrangement. His mind was already thinking of ways to make his uncle pay.

Maybe, next time in King’s Landing he would trade the King’s wine skin for piss.

“Will I even be able to become acquainted with this girl before marriage?” Harry asked, far much too calmly, a contradiction to how he was feeling.

“Yes, she is being sent here at we speak, arrives within a moon. She will spend five moons here and five moons at Pyke. After two years, she will be six-and-ten and you will marry.” Stannis replied in kind, though his feels much in line with his son’s.

Harry nodded, feeling his rage slowly ebb away. Their marriage would help with the peace of the Kingdoms. A very fragile peace would be made less fragile.

Plus, his father was probably right. She was a Greyjoy. At least they would have their love of the sea and sailing in common. The girl was still too young to have been a reaver, maybe he could assuage her of the notion. The Iron Born believed in the Iron Price, taking what was earned. Maybe, Harry could convince her that working for what they wanted was more of an Iron Price than just taking.

“I suppose it is not all bad,” Harry conceded, it was mostly for his father’s benefit. “As, you said, she’ll like sailing.”

“I know you will do your duty.” Stannis replied, suddenly feeling the hair on the back of his neck stand up. He recognized the look that slowly morphed over his son’s face. Harry’s mischievous side had come out to torment him.

“On top of that,” Harry smirked almost evilly, “I get to see what happens when you tell mother.”

Stannis felt his heart drop. In the excitement of the moment he had temporarily forgotten. Just as quickly did it stop, his heart started to beat again, but as the pace of a sprinting horse.

_Cheeky fucking bastard._

~*~*~*~

**290 AC – Sunspear**

The amount of time it had taken for Harry to visit Dorne had been longer than had been expected or would have liked. He had sent a raven to Arianne explaining the circumstances, but she was most put if her reply was any indication. They were just friends and already she was acting like a jilted lover.

Muirgen and Mya certainly had a good laugh about the ordeal.

After stopping the rebellion, they had been ordered to King’s Landing for a celebration that lasted a week. It was an enjoyable affair where Harry had been able to meet one of his childhood idols: Ser Barristan Selmy. The old knight had been gracious enough to answer his questions about swordplay and even imparted some knowledge. It may not have been the highlight of Harry’s life, but it was sure enough to place it in the top five.

After a week in King’s Landing they had traveled back to Dragonstone where his mother had organized another feast; thankfully it was only for one day. Harry would have believed himself a glutton if he engaged in anymore than that.

Harry had told his father a week after their talk, of his intention to travel to Dorne and though he was not happy about it, considering the bad blood between the Martells and Baratheons, could not think of a reasonable explanation to deny him. Especially because of what Harry was doing in regards to the Greyjoy.

Stannis’s only caveat was that he stays at Dragonstone for two weeks to spend time with his mother and sister. It was a sweet gesture, an uncommon thing for his father, but Harry knew that his father had only said such a thing as to not have his wife nag him to death. She was still beyond displeased with his betrothal. He could not help but smile at the memory of his father being dressed down by his mother.

Harry had spent a lot of his free time with his mother and Shireen. They had spent a lot of time walking along the shoreline. He also sang to her at night and told his little sister stories of the life he had remembered, but no longer lived. Harry did anything to see the girl laugh and smile. It made his heart calm and full of love when she touched his stony skin without fear.

Not that he was ashamed of it. Harry wore it like a badge of honor, the price for his sister’s life.

The time with his mother could have been better spent, but that was through not fault of Harry’s own. She had spent most of her time was asking for things he wanted: new armor, a new sword, horses, clothes and odd trinkets. He was adamant about telling her, the only thing he wanted from her was her time. But, she had been so insistent. It almost got to the point where Harry started to understand why his father feared her nagging.

He decided on quieting her, so that they may just enjoy each other’s company, by asking for something truly ridiculous: a zorse.

It was an animal similar to a horse, but striped black and white. They were stronger than most horses, but with that strength came an even fouler temper. The ridiculous part was that zorses were not bred in Westeros, they were only known to be bred far east across the Dothraki Sea. It was not an animal commonly known about in Westeros, Harry himself only knew about it because of one of the rare books owned by Maester Cressen.

            He supposed it was her way of making it up to him for his betrothal to the Greyjoy girl. It wasn’t her fault and Harry had agreed in the end. It was for the peace of the realm. Making an unbelievably fragile peace a smidgen stronger. Harry knew it wasn’t much, but he at least was trying to do his part. But still, she felt bad because he wanted her to marry someone…well, anyone else.

Harry tried to placate her on the issue, to allow her to forget it for a moment, saying they would speak more of it when he returned from Dorne.

That had started an entirely different ‘conversation’ that let him know his mother did not like it in the least.

‘Do not be seduced by their liberal nature. Their exoticness may be appealing now, but it will not always be so. Your future wife should only know you and be dutiful. Dornish women are known to be fiery tempered and untamable. At least we know that the Greyjoy girl will be untouched. Even Balon is not stupid enough to disrespect our house on such a thing.’ Selyse had told him vehemently.

He wanted to tell her that he had laid with other women before and it would have been hypocritical to judge, but didn’t have the heart to break her of that fantasy.

He was firm in his decision for them to speak about it at a later date and did his best to assuage his mother’s fears by joking assuring her he would not elope with a ‘Dornish scarlet woman’. He was a friend of Arianne and the Sand Snakes.

Obara and Nymeria were the only ones old enough at the time of his last visit to partake in such…activities. And while Nymeria was cordial enough, always trying to see if she could make him blush, which he did often, Obara was more likely to penetrate him, as he was to do her.

Melisandre, for all she had done for him and his family, had become an annoyance. She was constantly inviting him to the room she had built for the Red god for prayer. Apparently, he should have given thanks. When he tried to explain to her she would have answers for everything. He had done it on his own; the Red god had given him strength. Harry had not heard or even felt the Red god. They could not always feel the wind or even see it, but it was there. A headache and a half the woman was. He had finally snapped and said he did not believe in her Red god or any gods, not after what happened to his sister. That had just entertained her even more as she smiled a condescending smile and told him he would see the truth sooner or later.

‘Enjoy your trip, Azor Ahai. But, wherever you go the Lord of Light will always lead you back to me,’ were her last words to him. Presumptuous and condescending, words Harry had come to associate with her.

He continued training with Muirgen and other of the Baratheon men, having Mya sit in or take part. The girl had a way with words, but that finesse did not translate to her skill with a sword. She was brutish, fierce, but lacked grace and finesse.

Harry and Muirgen agreed that while a sword would be necessary, Mya would never be great with it.

Mya had grumbled the entire time, even more determined to learn it. But, the harder she tried, the harder she fell. Until, alas, with Muirgen and Harry knowing who she was bastard to, suggested an unorthodox approach. Muirgen knew how to fight with a mace and such techniques were applicable to a war-hammer, Mya’s father’s weapon of choice.

She had been fervently against it, not wanting to ride on her father’s coattails and because of not wanting to be associated with him when she finally did achieve greatness. It was Harry who talked her into it.

‘Imagine the spectacle it would be: a woman swinging a war-hammer with the strength of a giant and caving the chest of men twice her size. You will make music of thunder and they will sing _your_ praises for it.’

For such her heated argument, Mya was quick to change her tune at his words.

Harry had armor made for her, nothing too intricate or expensive. Her weapon was heavy and clumsy; Mya would need speed and agility on her side. There was also the fact that most squires would not have armor so early, but Harry wanted her to get used to moving in it. He remembered his first battle at the Fair Isles and how strange it was for him to move in it, having been used to fighting in common clothing during his travels. And his armor was lighter than most.

More protection could always be added later.

Mya’s armor was much like Harry’s, consisting mostly of the riveted mail. The only plate she wore was half-gauntlets that covered thick hide gloves, overlapping greaves and overlapping tassets that fell to her knees to protect Mya’s legs. Under her tassets, Mya had scale armor. Her helmet was much like Muirgen’s, a Barbute design without a visor, but not as ornately decorated, as Harry’s own.

Her war-hammer was beautiful, something Harry trusted Muirgen to design, as she was more familiar with such sort of weaponry. It was bigger than Harry would have wanted for Mya, she was still growing after all, but Muirgen had argued that it was better for her to get used to the weight than be scaled up and have to readjust. Plus, it would save them coin.

The striking side was wide, a hand in length on all four sides with each corner turning into a spike. On the opposite end was a large spike that would pierce any man as well as a lance. Mya seemed to be fascinated with the design and she had been most enthusiastic with her thanks to Muirgen.

His dealings with Muirgen were much of the same. She had decided on her sigil: a black bear, with permission from House Mormont, standing on hind legs with its maw opened in a roar and a patch of greyscale on it’s left eye. The bear represented where she had come from, Bear Island, and the scar was obviously for Harry.

They sailed to Dorne, clad in only their mail and swords, with men of the _Prayer_. They had earned quite a bit of gold for themselves and he asked which of his men would venture with him to enjoy a furlough in Dorne. Almost every one of them had enthusiastically agreed. Some wanted to buy Dornish wine, some of the best offered in the kingdom. Others wanted to pick up other items that were more cheaply bought in Dorne. And, there were others who wanted to sample the pillow houses and gambling halls. Harry would not deny them any of it; so long as they caused no trouble they could not talk themselves out of.

“Muirgen, assign the men their guard details of the ship. Ensure the roster is long enough to cover the two weeks we will be here and that every man is given equal time leave.” Harry ordered, leaving to pay the port master the fine. He knew Muirgen would see it done and the men would follow.

“Yes, my lord. To where do you go?” She asked, Mya not far from her side.

“I’ll go pay the port master and head straight to the Sun Tower. I fear if I dally here too long, Arianne will become quite cross with me. You know how she gets.” Harry sighed, not looking over his shoulder. He had no need to look to know the teasing grins of his Sworn Shield and Squire.

“I wouldn’t know, but I hear women can get that way when their lovers are away for long periods of time. Lack of…affection, as it were. Imagine how your future wife will feel when she finds out about your Dornish ‘friend’.” Mya quipped.

“Just for that, you are taking the first shift of guard duty.” Harry replied, jumping off the ship to find the port master. It was a small gratification the hear Mya whine at Muirgen about how he was being unfair.

~*~*~*~


	6. Basic, if albeit Complicated...Part 1

**NOTES: Wow…just, wow. I can’t even…wow…the hate is real…**

**On a more positive note, thank you to all the readers who reviewed. My muse lives for such things. For all the people who think the character is not ‘Harry’ enough, please leave reasons why. For people who are saying that Harry would never do that, keep in mind that he is not in his old world. I will leave you with this parting thought: Darwin.**

**Coldblue: Keep your reviews coming. It gives me stuff to think about. I really do read all the reviews and take those things into mind. But, unfortunately, if you want answer to some of those questions…yeah we are going to have to PM. Sorry man.**

**Don’t forget to leave a review.**

**~Jin**

**~*~*~*~*~**

**290 AC – Sunspear**

**~HARRY~**

The walk to the Sun Tower of Sunspear was not too far from the docks, at least not as far where it would require a horse. Harry kept a pleasant smile on his face, but a hand on his sword. His travels with Muirgen had taught him to always be ready for anything.

            ‘ _Constant Vigilance!’_

They were words that rang prominently in his head, a gruff voice shouting over and over, even when in familiar surroundings. It was a phrase Harry could understand. Complacency was a trait that could have gotten him and Muirgen killed when they traveled the Seven Kingdoms. Dorne was a pleasant place, but it was not short in supply of thieves, sell-swords, and cutthroats.

Harry’s attention was attracted to a small crowd that was gathered a half klick away from the palace. He ventured up and smiled as he heard the disappointed groans and outraged shouts of men who had just lost money. He remembered the game well, made quite a few coins at it. But, then again, he had cheated.

The game was simple enough only involving coin and two die. It seemed fair at first glance, but the favor was the host’s. A potential player would walk up and place their money on even or odd. He would roll the dice and if he guessed correctly, the host would double his monies. The reason the house had an advantage was because it was up to the player to guess correctly. If he guessed incorrectly or rolled snake eyes, then he would lose. It gave the host two ways to win and the player one.

That’s if they played with straight dice, but that was hardly ever the case. Especially, when the game was out on the street. The gambling houses were straight games, for the most part, but they required certain amounts of coin to gain entrance into their establishment, which was why the street games still continued. Everyone thought they could beat the system.

Well, Harry could, but that was a different matter. He had his tricks.

He looked up to the sun and judged it to be just short of midday, enough time for him to win some coin. No doubt Arianne and the Sand Snakes would want to venture into the city later, it would do his purse good to be padded a little. The Storm goddess only knew how Tyene, with her wickedly sweet persona, and Arianne with her pout could make him caved into buying them things. At least Obara was too proud to ask him for things other than a sparring partner and Nymeria only talked to him of knives. She was at least fair when she won his coin in knife throwing competitions.

“I would have a game or two, good man.” Harry said to the man who ran the table. He was dressed in fine clothes, tailored and of good material. But, all it took was one look of his eyes for Harry to know he was as crooked a bastard as they came. Looking him in the eyes gave Harry a slimy feeling down his spine. The game was definitely loaded, a good thing in Harry’s book. He would feel no guilt in cheating the man of his money.

Buying Mya’s armor and weapons had put a serious dent into his finances and there was no way Harry was going to ask his father for coin. He would save himself from the speech.

Honestly, Harry loved having parents, not having to be alone, but they were such a bother at times.

“Well, good knight, we run a fair game,” Harry hid a snort, “you must show the coin before we can begin.”

It was a reasonable enough request. He reached on the underside of his sword belt, untying the coin purse. Harry knew he could have broken the shark’s bank with one roll, but did not want to seem overly eager.

“Ten gold dragons to start, yes?” Harry almost laughed when the man’s eyes threatened to come out of his head and almost did when the greed flashed across his face. Yes, there would be no guilt.

“A fine wager,” the host replied, placing his dragons on the table. He tried to hand Harry the dice, but he waved him away.

“You should roll good Ser. I would not like to hear about me cheating.” The man tried, but Harry just waved it away.

“No, please. It is a fair game. I call ‘even’.”

The host shrugged and waved his hands in a flashy manner. It had been so quick and covered by his flowing sleeves that Harry had almost not caught it. If he had been a different sort of man, Harry would have complimented him on such a skillful show of sleight of hand. But, Harry was looking for it and did see it.

It wouldn’t matter, but he was still impressed.

The dice hit the table and Harry kept his arms far from the table, not wanting to give anyone an excuse.

His trick was a simple one and its application only applicable to small things. He’d learned of it after he had touched Melisandre. Something in her magic had ignited his own, small as it was.

And it was small. Even a big enough tome would have been impossible to move. But, dice…that was child’s play.

Harry focused on the dice, part trying to see where the markers were and part waiting for his moment to strike. They bounced and bounced, looking to come up odd. The dice had not even settled when the host reached for his money, but Harry just gave the dice a small ‘push’. He was quick to grab the shark’s hand before it touched his coins.

“I think I won…” Harry stated pointing out the dice came up equaling six.

“What?” The surprise was almost comical, but Harry didn’t sneer, as he wanted to. Instead, he swept the man’s coin to his side of the table. It was the host turn to stop him.

“Double or nothing?”

Harry could have walked away, ten dragons richer, but decided against it. It would not do to leave without teaching the man a lesson. Cheaters never win.

Well, unless that cheater’s name was Harry Baratheon.

“I’m feeling lucky. Double up. Forty dragons.” Harry stated pouring the rest of his purse unto the table. The greed was strong within the swindler across from him.

“That’s all I have. You’ll leave me with nothing more than a handful of moon and pennies at this rate.” The man feigned distress.

“Okay, I’ll just-“

“Done!” Came back the wolfish grin. Harry just nodded and called ‘even’. There was no flashing swishing of arms or throwing of dice from one hand to the other, the crook jiggled the dice in hand and threw them on the table.

Again, they bounced. Again, they came up even.

Steam would have come from the man’s nose he was so incensed. He turned a rather unhealthy shade of red, even more than one would pick up from standing in the sun from hours.

“You cheated!” He shouted and caused Harry’s face to fall flat. Harry could have pointed out that he had been cheating a lot more than he had, but did not. The people had seen him, seen his arms nowhere near the table. No one was fast enough to reach across the table and switch the dice without anyone seeing. It was just not possible. But, Harry would play the part correctly.

“I beg your pardon?” He growled, hand going to his dagger. “You rolled the dice, I’ve been standing back the entire time. How in the name of the Seven Hells could I have cheated!”

“I don’t know, but you did. It shouldn’t be possible for you to win!”

 _Got you_ , Harry thought and finally allowed a small smirk. A look to his left and right showed that people were also confused by the man’s statement. He had to stop himself from slapping his forehead at their naivety.

“Why couldn’t I have won?” Harry asked far too innocently, feigning a quizzical look.

“Because…you…the…” The hustler just snarled, knowing he was trapped. He could admit that he had been cheating all along and could use that as an excuse of how he knew that Harry had cheated. But, even then it would have been a hard feat to explain.

“My apologize good Ser. I said that in anger at losing. Of course you did not cheat. It is a fair game after all. My luck has just run out.”

“Yes, a fair game…and you owe me forty gold dragons. I’ll forgive your statement of anger, but demand payment I was promised.” Harry said calmly, slowly inching his dagger out of its sheath. The crowd was murmuring of how he had won fair and square. And he had…to their knowledge. The swindler was not happy and his face was twisted into disgust. Harry thought it ironic.

“Thank you…for the fair game.” Harry said, turning into the crowd who patted him on the back and congratulated him on finally winning the unwinnable table. He made sure to keep his hand on his bulging purse, lest anyone with sticky fingers walk away with his hard earned loot…well, easily earned, but earned anyway.

He was no more than a dozen paces past the crowd, who were embolden by his winning and trying to gain some of the own, when Harry froze in mid-step. In front of him, only half dozen steps away, was the person he had come to see. And she did not look very happy.

For as young as she was Arianne Martell, Princess of Dorne, was one of the most beautiful women Harry had ever seen. Her olive skin was silken to the look and without blemish. Thick, long, ebony black hair fell in perfect ringlets to the middle of her back and framed dark colored eyes. She had full, kissable lips and womanly curves at only four-and-ten. Harry had imagined kissing her plenty of times he had been at Dorne. Arianne was a full head short than him, always had been, but that just added to her allure. She had such a fiery and adventurous personality for someone so tiny that Harry had found it charming.

Except, when her fierce temper was aimed at him.

Arianne was beautiful, her laughter infectious, and teasing a moment of levity even if it caused him to blush harder than a maid. But, the opposite was also true. Her temper could rival wildfire.

Harry plastered a large smile to his lips, which wasn’t entirely a façade.

“Arianne! I was just coming to see you when the port master-“

“I saw your ship dock. I’ve been looking from the tower for ships bearing your sigil. So, lie more convincingly.” The princess sniped, her arms crossed and a sandaled foot tapping at the ground impatiently. She did not even flick her eyes to his scaled skin. A fact that pleased Harry more than he would ever be able to describe. It was muted by her annoyed expression, but not by much.

“I won coin so I could treat you and your cousins out?” Harry tried, patting his purse.

Arianne raised a brow at his statement and looked over his shoulder. She snorted and rolled her eyes.

“You have the gods’ luck,” She said looking away and raising her hand to him. “But, that does not give you excuse to keep a lady waiting. Especially, a princess.”

Harry grinned, knowing she was teasing him now. He gently took her hand in his and kissed her knuckles. Again, she did not hesitate to give her hand.

“Of course, princess. Forgive me. I will endeavor to not be found wanting again.” He replied in mock regret.

“See that you don’t.” Came the curt reply, her nose in the air.

Arianne was the first to break, a smile peeling at her lips. It was infectious because Harry found his cheek lifting into a grin. She moved with the speed of a snake, one arm slithering around his neck as she pulled him into a hug. Harry returned the hug awkwardly, a moment that turned even more awkward when Arianne planted her lips to his cheek.

He was no blushing virgin, but Arianne was no tavern girl. She was a princess and in a way it made her different from what few girls Harry had ‘been’ with before. She was not shy or giggly, but rather sure, confident, and seductive when she wanted to be. It didn’t intimidate Harry, but it did put him off kilter, as it had been a while since they had last seen each other. There were no young women like her at Dragonstone or at King’s Landing for that matter.

“Ah, Harry. Still as innocent as ever.” Arianne commented, running the back of her hand over his blushed cheeks. Harry groused about having been with a woman before, but Arianne just laughed and took his hand.

“Come, tell me of your adventures as we walk to the castle. I am sure my cousins and uncle would like to see you as well.”

Harry allowed himself to be led by the hand, but not in a way parents led their children. They looked like lovers, especially when Arianne wrapped herself around his arm. But, Harry redirected her to stand on his left hand side, leaving his sword arm free. The action seemed to amuse Arianne, the glint in her eyes clear.

“No one will attack you with me besides you, Harry. I will protect your virtue.” She teased. But, that matter was serious to Harry.

_‘Constant Vigilance!’_

He quieted the disembodied voices of his memories and laughed at her jest. There was nothing he could say that she would not retort to. Instead, he took her hand and placed it at his elbow, saying nothing when she hugged his arm to her again. Harry kept his left hand on the pommel of his sword to keep it from swinging and hitting her.

Arianne had asked him to speak of his adventures. But, that was not the way things ended.

She spoke. He listened. And, they made their way to the Martell home.

~*~*~*~*~

**290 AC – Sunspear**

**~MUIRGEN~**

Muirgen made her way through the city, one hand on her sword. She had planned to go to Harry by herself, but when Mya had managed to convince one of the men to take her shift for her, bid the young squire to accompany her.

They had made their way through the crowd easy enough, not as tightly packed at the streets of King’s Landing and everyone moved at a slower pace, more of a leisurely stroll than the hustle of the capital.

It was short work for them to find Harry, Arianne hanging off his arm like a lover as they walked at an even more sedate pace.

Muirgen had to suppress a smirk.

She knew her lord had a soft spot for the Dornish princess. She fit him well enough. All fire and adventure that girl was, a healthy opposite to Harry. He was charismatic and could cause men’s blood to boil when needed, but at home he was like a calm sea. Just moving, enjoying the moment, and placid.

“That’s who Harry came to visit?” She heard Mya question beside her, the look on the girl’s face was priceless. Muirgen had never seen such skeptical surprise.

“What of it?”

“I didn’t know he was talking about THE Princess of Dorne. He just called her ‘Arianne’, “Mya practically shouted before looking to the young woman at Harry’s side.

“She doesn’t look like the type of person Harry would take for a…um…”

“Lover?” Muirgen assisted.

“Yeah,” Mya replied, coughing into her hand. The Sworn Shield threw her head back into a laugh. She could not stop herself even when Mya took to hitting her.

“What? What’s so funny?”

“They aren’t lovers, just friends.” Though Muirgen doubted such a relationship would last long without escalating, it still hadn’t.

But, it was only a matter of time.

They were more liberal with such things in Dorne after all and it was easy to see at the last visit that Princess Arianne found Harry pleasing to the eyes. She wasn’t lovesick, but Arianne had always wanted Harry’s attention. When he was training with Obara or learning to throw blades from Nymeria, Arianne would cheer for him. When he sat with Tyene and Sarella telling them stories, she would sit with rapt attention and fire just as many questions as Harry said words. The girl would find times to touch him, even if it was fairly innocent, and tease him, taking immense pleasure at his blushes.

            Muirgen gave credence to the voice in her head that said that was just the young princess’ way. That she was just having her fun. But, there was another side of her, a more logical side that would not fall for her excuses, that was screaming ‘LIAR!’

“She certainly isn’t handling him like a friend.”

Muirgen snorted. The idea of anyone handling Harry was amusing. But, Muirgen allowed Mya her preconceived notions. It was early yet, she would learn.

Still, the girl was right. Arianne certainly did not act like just a friend. Muirgen was glad Lady Selyse had not accompanied them. The woman would of either died of a broken heart at seeing the princess so close to her son or launched herself like a harpy at the Dornish girl. Not that she would have been able to touch Arianne without touching Harry. The two were so close together Muirgen doubted air could pass.

“Friend, lover, it doesn’t matter. We serve Harry. We can question when necessary, but we do not judge. Unquestioning Devotion, remember?”

“Men swear and break oaths all the time. Why is it when women say it, all of a sudden it becomes serious.” Mya muttered.

They were the wrong words to say, for Muirgen grabbed the little girl by her mail and hefted her until she stood on her toes. It would no doubt create a commotion, but Muirgen would rather purge such thoughts from her before Harry caught wind of such things.

Her lord was one that took oaths and honor very seriously.

“We are not those men. We are not sworn to their lords, we are sworn to ours.” She hissed bitingly. “You spoke the words, you will live them, or-“

“Or I’ll never be a knight?” Mya glared back with a scoff. But, the girl did not intimidate her. She was yet to be blooded in war.

Muirgen was.

She had stared death in the eyes and punched it in the face for Harry. There was no way in Seven Hells that she would allow the little girl to besmirch her words.

“If it were only so simple. You spoke my words little girl and you are of my House. Words I spoke to Harry and words that I have lived by. It was I who vouched for you. Cross those words and you do not just betray Harry, but also smear our honor. If that should ever happen I _will_ part fucking head from fucking shoulders.” Muirgen promised, sending the girl stumbling back with a flick of her wrist. Mya fixed her mail and glared at her challengingly. But, for all the venom in it Muirgen was reminded of a kicked puppy. She sighed and rubbed the bridge of her nose.

“You are still new and still young, I will forgive such words this one time. It will take time for you to learn.”

“Learn what?” Mya questioned, following her as she walked with enough paces to give Harry and Arianne privacy.

“That you. Are. Lucky!” She growled harshly, but lowly at the stupid question. “Do you know how many female squires there are in history? Zero. Do you know how many other women were knights before me? Zero. Warrior Queens and women warriors, there were handfuls, but never knights. I come from the Bear Islands and all the women know how to fight and defend themselves as good as any man. How many do you think were named knights?”

“Zero…” Mya grumbled.

“That’s right. Zero. But, Harry gave me a chance to be a knight. He gave me a sword, armor, and an honor not given to bastards. After the Greyjoy Rebellion, he knighted me himself. And not in some quiet ceremony as if doing so shamed him. He did it in front of his father, mother, and all the other knights sworn to Dragonstone. It was with pride he did it. Even though he knew there would be those who mocked him, who would jeer at him, he fucking did it with gods-damn pride. Maybe you are still too young to understand the concepts of pride, honor, and fucking loyalty.” Muirgen growled.

“But, you will learn. By all the gods you swore to, you will learn. Or it will be head,” she said poking at Mya’s forehead before jabbing a finger into the girl’s collar, “from shoulders.”

The girl turned away, shame on her face. That was good. It meant she understood. Muirgen would still teach her. Teach her that she was lucky. Without Harry, only the gods knew where she would be and what she would be doing.

“I only meant that she does not seem like the type of girl Harry would take for his woman. He is Stannis Baratheon’s son. And, I have only been with him for a handful of weeks, but I have heard his mother bemoaning the fact he was to wed a Greyjoy instead of a proper lady. You know…like a proper lord.” Mya muttered, to which Muirgen was quick to give a small guffaw.

“If Harry were like _proper lords_ , we would not be who we are today.” She informed the squire. Muirgen allowed the clenching of her jaw to relax slightly when Mya nodded. As she was thoroughly chastised, Muirgen focused again on Harry. She knew he could take of himself, but it calmed her heart to see him safe with her own eyes.

Besides, he was walking with the Princess of Dorne, anyone stupid enough to attack her would be lucky if Prince Doran gave them a quick death. If they weren’t, they would have the Red Viper, Prince Oberyn, to contend with and as sure of her skills as Muirgen was the Red Viper was not someone she would willingly tussle with on anything other than the training field.

There was little fanfare when they arrived, only Prince Oberyn and his bastards. A fact that she knew Harry would appreciate. He always did hate the pomp and glitter of courts.

The older, but still attractive man, widened his arms in welcome before gripping Harry’s arm in greeting.

“Harry, my friend, we welcome you back to Dorne.” Oberyn said, wrapping his arm around Harry’s shoulders. He stood at the right side, making Harry flinch for a moment. Tales were that Oberyn was not as sharp as his older brother, but the man was wise enough to slide to the side and allow Harry’s sword arm between them. And, it was done without the prince missing a beat.

“Thank you, Prince Oberyn. I hope you will not think me abusing your hospitality.” Harry greeted back graciously. The prince just laughed and patted him on the back.

“Of course not, Harry. I may not like your father or uncle, but you…you I like.” Oberyn replied with an open grin.

“Oh? I wasn’t aware you have ever met my father.” Harry knew full well why Oberyn wouldn’t like his uncle.

“I haven’t,” Oberyn admitted, “but he is said to be a dour and serious man. I dislike such people.”

“I may not be as…stern as my father, but I do take certain matters very seriously.” Harry said, still puzzled.

“Of course, there are always exceptions to rules. I too take certain things seriously. But, I know that all of life is not to be taken so seriously. There are many wonders to be experienced; some over and over again.” He paused to give Harry a lecherous look, an all to obvious hint to what the prince meant.

Harry had laughed softly, shaking his head at Oberyn’s bluntness.

“That’s why I like you Harry, you’re like me. We know when to be serious, but also know life is about living.”

Muirgen would have agreed with the statement had Oberyn not compared himself to Harry. Her lord was not like the younger Prince of Dorne. Harry had honor, he knew his duties, and was not a glutton. He knew to have fun, but Harry was more content to be at peace than always having some new trinket or a new girl to fuck. While she knew he enjoyed the pleasures of the flesh, Harry was just as content to sail or spend time with his sister than a woman to warm him.

No, Harry was nothing like Oberyn.

“Oh, I don’t know about that uncle. I think Harry is much more handsome.” Arianne said from Harry’s side, a smirk on her lips as she ran a perfectly manicure finger across Harry’s scales. Muirgen was not sure if the girl was joking or not.

“Your words are like spears, Arianne. And here to think, you were my favorite niece.” Oberyn mockingly groaned, a hand to his heart as if he’d just been stabbed.

“She’s your only niece, Prince Oberyn.” Harry said.

“Nonetheless, she is no longer my favorite. Whose side are you on Harry?” He asked, a look of betrayal on his face.

“Mine of course.” Arianne replied for Harry, throwing her thick black hair over her shoulder.

“Nonsense, niece. Harry’s a man of loyalty. He knows us men must stick together.”

“I am on no one’s side,” Harry interjected before their by-play could get out of hand, “I was just stating the obvious.”

The party of three came to a halt in front of the Sand Snakes, all who nodded to her in acknowledgement before fixing their smiles of various stages at Harry.

The first to greet Harry was Oberyn’s oldest daughter, Obara. The young woman was big-boned with muscles that spoke of hard training. Her hair was brown and thick, held back in a loose braid down her back. She stood at Harry’s height and greeted him with a handshake, like one between men. Harry, for all his training in courtesy, did not bend to kiss Obara’s knuckles. Instead, he gave her a hearty pat on her shoulders when she released his hand.

“I hope you’ve been practicing. I’d hate to find you lacking as a challenge after so long.” Obara said, as polite to a congenial greeting as Harry was going to get.

“Last I remember, Obara, it was five-to-four bouts in my favor. Besides, I have extra armor now” He replied cheekily, tapping above his eye.

“That just means you’re slower. You’ll find that number reversed by the end of your stay, Harry.” Obara replied with a predatory grin. Harry laughed cheerily, always up for a good spar, before turning to the next sister.

Obara was by not a great beauty, but Muirgen doubted that a man would not have her. It was only her abrasive personality that kept men at bay.

Nymeria did not have either problem. She had all the beauty her older sister lacked. Her black, straight hair was tied into a neat braid being held together by copper wire at the ends. She was slender, but not lacking in womanly attributes, with skin so olive it was almost bronze and looked soft to the touch. The girl’s beauty hid the danger she really was. Muirgen had seen her pull daggers from seemingly out of thin air and knew how to use them. Also unlike Obara, Nymeria was pleasant enough. She gave Harry small smiles and enjoyed touching him to garner a blush almost as much as Arianne did.

“Have you been practice the techniques I showed you?” Nymeria asked after placing a chaste kiss on Harry’s cheek.

“Not as much I should have, I’m sorry to say. I’ve been otherwise too occupied to practice.” Harry admitted, ruffling the back of his head with a nervous laugh.

“Well, I look forward to taking your coin then.” She replied with a well-hidden mischievous grin. If it weren’t for the twinkle in her eyes, Muirgen would have thought it affectionate.

“We shall see.” Harry replied before standing in front of Tyene.

Tyene Sand was the Sand Snake that Muirgen trusted the least. Her hair was blonder than any Lannister with sky blue eyes. As much as Muirgen could remember, Tyene was never without a pleasant smile or acted anything sweet.

That was the problem.

She was too sweet. Her little angelic voice, the pious attitude, and just the overall innocence she exuded in a palpable aura. It was too much. There was also the way she had acted around Harry. Their last visit, Tyene couldn’t have been more than ten, but she…flirted. Not in the teasing way of Arianne or Nymeria, but like a cat playing with a mouse. It was then that Muirgen knew that Tyene was the one to watch out for.

“It’s so nice to have you back, Harry. You will have to tell us all about your adventures.” Tyene said, wrapping her arms around Harry and giving him a kiss on the cheek that was far too close to his lips to be ‘just friendly’.

“Well-“

“Harry! Harry! Did you kill a lot of men?” A tiny voice came before he could even speak.

The owner was a tiny thing of a girl, only ten. Her hair was long, straight and black. She was an adorable little thing, nearly vibrating in excitement as she asked her question. The curiosity sparkled in her eyes and she grabbed Harry’s hand to keep his attention, nearly pushing Arianne, who was still on his arm, out of the way in her eagerness.

“That’s not something you ask my dear Sarella.” Oberyn admonished the youngest of the Sand Snakes. It wasn’t harsh or uncaring, but informative. Personally, Muirgen agreed with him. Not that she would admit it aloud. From the look on Harry’s face, he agreed and was thankful for the Dornish prince’s intervention.

“But-“ Sarella tried, but Harry placed his available hand on hers. Making the little girl still for a moment.

“Killing may as times be necessary, Sarella, but it is not to be glorified. Men sometimes say things in the heat of the moment or to lift the spirits of men around them, but the taking of a life is not something to be taken lightly.” Harry explained gently.

“But, weren’t they bad men?” She pressed.

“They did a bad thing, but even bad men have families who will miss them. We, as good people, should respect their sadness and not speak joyfully about their pain. I did what I had to, to preserve the peace of the realm and survive. If I did not have to, I would not kill at all. I’d rather be sailing or spending time with my sister or visiting here so we could run around the city.” He said softly.

“So,” Sarella’s face twisted quizzically, “you solve killing with killing?”

Harry thought about the question for a moment before giving a shaky nod.

“That’s stupid.” She stated, probably even more confused. Muirgen could not blame her. It did sound pretty stupid when put in that way. She knew that there were more facets to it, but Sarella had gotten it down to its most basic.

Harry and Prince Oberyn laughed, some of the Sand Snakes snickering along.

“You will become a very smart women if you’ve realized that already.” Harry chuckled, a comforting hand on Sarella’s head.

The others present all shared a soft chuckle as the youngest beamed at Harry with a smile that could have outshone the sun.

But, it was not Sarella Muirgen was concerned about. The look in Princess Arianne’s eyes, that caused her some worry. Oberyn’s bastards may have been known as the Sand Snakes, but the princess was the one eyeing Harry like he was a juicy mouse to be devoured. Muirgen could only think one thing about that look, even as the voice at the back of head was saying ‘I told you so’.

_Well, shit…_

~*~*~*~*~


	7. Basic, if albeit Complicated Part 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hey, this is going through a re-write, but I decided to post the chapters I did write. Still only once a week. Look out for the re-write, it should be out soon.

**This chapter bounces from Harry to Arianne. She only has a small part here, but she’ll be most important later on.**

**WARNING!!!!**

**There is a Lemon in this chapter. I’d like to think I made it pretty well. Not to smutty, but to truly rely the passion and actions that are normally associated with sexual activities. If you don’t want to read it, please use the “FIND” function.**

**Read, Review, Follow, Favorite.**

**~Jin**

**290 AC – Sunspear, Dorne**

 

 

The day had been exhausting, as it always was when spending time with Arianne and the Sand Snakes. Not to mention Oberyn wanting to take him to the pillow houses for ‘his last time as a free man’. But, Harry had been way too tired to partake and Oberyn had understood when he had seen how he looked at the end of the day.

Obara had him in the training yards until midday. Once at the yard, she had done her best to imitate fucking him with her spear. If she had thrust any harder, he feared he would come down with child.

Harry wondered how such a comely girl was so rough.

Obara was nowhere near the most beautiful woman Harry had ever meet, not even when only compared to her sisters, but she was not completely undesirable. Not that he would have ever approached her with his ‘spear’. He had seen how she treated her horses when she rode. If that treatment translated to her bedroom decorum, Harry would wish any man luck and advise use of full plate.

Helm included.

She reminded him of a warrior queen, one that took what she wanted at the end of a spear or edge of a sword. She certainly had the bone and muscular structure to be one. When they sparred Harry noticed such things about her. Obara’s skin slick with sweat and her brown, kinky hair lied into a loose braid, flying behind her as she roared with vicious thrusts of her spear. No less deadly than her sisters, but Obara was by far the most ferocious.

In contrast, Nymeria was by far the most ‘normal’ of the Sand Snakes. A term he used very loosely. She had wanted to spend time with him, seeing how much he had actually practiced at tossing knives. And though Harry was sweaty and tired from Obara trying to tie their number of bouts, he did not have the heart to deny her.

He hadn’t the time to practice when he had made it home. Knowing how to throw a dagger was a useful skill, but mastering the sword more valuable to him. Still, Harry was very gracious when she took their customary bet for every set of five daggers. The gambling coin he had made had come in handy, because while Nymeria was gracious when she took 20 moons from him, she still took them.

Yet, Harry found himself pleased enough with his performance. His skill had not suffered as much as he had believed. After 20 bouts of the best of five knives, Harry had won eight. It may have been by the skin of he teeth that he had won those rounds, but Nymeria was the best knife thrower he had ever seen. There was no shame in losing to her, especially when she had been nice enough to correct his form and part with more advice for him.

The two sweetest were Tyene and Sarella, though of a different order. His allotted time with them was much more relaxing. They wanted to sit on their terrace, drink tea, and listen to Harry them stories. He granted what he could, especially with Sarella stopping him every other sentence to pose questions. Harry snickered as he remembered the look on Tyene’s face when the younger girl stopped him for what seemed like the umpteenth time. He had never see the golden locks girl angry before, but she had looked like she had been about to lose her temper.

But, that was just how the girls were.

Sarella was sweet in the manner of her curiosity. It was endearing to Harry. She always wanted to know something, always needed to figure something out. Questions upon questions would pour from her mouth for days on days if her body could handle it. Many thought her nosy, but Harry found her intelligent. The only way to learn was to ask questions. People had made plenty of mistakes because they lacked sound knowledge. No, Harry would rather she ask questions than make assumptions.

After all, assumption was the mother of all foul-ups.

Tyene was a different kind of creature altogether. She was sweet, but overly so. There were septas she put to shame with her act. When she became older, there would be many men who would cut themselves with their own swords to garner her favor. They would be drunk on her sweetness and emboldened by the coy fluttering of her lashes, only to fall when they realized that Tyene was predator and not prey.

Most would not have noticed it, would not have been able to see Tyene for what she really was.

She was jovial, that must was true. But, Harry had seen her, looked into her eyes and seen the wonders that cross her mind. She had been ten when he first saw it and to say he had been shocked with have been akin to saying The Wall was a fence. All sorts of ‘solutions’ to ‘problems’ bounced around in Tyene’s small head. Some of them impressed Harry, while some made him cautious.

That was not to say that Harry did not find her a good person. Once past the solid sugary coating and conniving middle, there was a decent girl deep down there…very deep down.

The one thing he could agree on with Tyene was her love for family. That much Harry was sure of. If he knew nothing about her, that would be enough to respect her.

He had done many things that day and said much, but the one constant (aside from Muirgen and Mya) and most puzzling had been Arianne. She had cheered for him during his spar with Obara, encouraged him when he lost to Nymeria, and sat besides him as he talked story with Tyene and Sarella.

She had sat closer to him than his mother would have thought proper, much to the pouts of Tyene and Sarella who each wanted a majority of his attention. Arianne just sat, listening intently, and absent-mindedly stroked his arm, leg, or shoulder.

None of it was strange for her. Even when they had first met, she was not shy to initiate physical contact and had teased him to an almost permanent blush.

That bizarre part was that she did not demand his attention or tease him. At least, not in the way she once had. Harry chalked it up to any number of things: growing up, no longer finding him interesting, etc. None of the reasons he concocted made him feel better, but he understood. The childish fascination they had with each other was gone. He would have to be a lord one day and Arianne a princess. They would each have their responsibilities that would keep them home; their separate homes on polar opposite sides of the world.

It had been an immature fantasy of his, for him and Arianne to fall in love. Stupid, Harry knew, but he was allowed to dream. It was impossible not to be interested in Arianne Martell. She was beautiful, even when they had been children, and there was a spark to her than drew him in.

It had been a nice dream to have.

But, Harry was a man now. He had duties, responsibilities, and all that tripe.

Harry sighed to himself, allowing such worries to leave him as his breath did. It did him no good to dwell on such matters. He was Arianne’s friend and he would remain such. They still got along as friends and he would be a good friend. A loyal and honorable friend she could rely on for counsel.

He snickered when he started to think of Arianne in his father’s shoes and he in Ser Davos’s.

Harry was about to allow sleep to take him, glad that he would slumber with funnier and sweeter thoughts than he had previously, when the door to his chambers slowly opened. He kept his eyes closed and breathing slow as his fingers clasped around the dagger he had kept on the pillow opposite he laid on. Muirgen and Mya knew it best to knock before entering.

The footsteps where light and slow. Harry focused on hearing the soft pattering as the intruder came closer. It was better them to think him sleeping; they would think him an easy target. He waited until they were in arms reach before springing into action.

His dagger slid out of its sheath with ease as Harry whirled about. He did not know what to expect when he finally saw the intruder, but it certainly was not anything he thought up.

“Honestly, Harry,” Arianne sighed with a shake of her head. “I’ve come to surprise you and you just had to ruin it.”

His heart was still racing and his brain unable to think of words to say. Arianne slowly took the dagger he had at her throat and placed it on the nightstand next to his bed.

“My apologies,” He finally managed, “I do not normally have women sneaking into my room at night.”

“Such a shame. With the way you look and your reputation I’d have thought women clamoring into your bed by the dozens.” Arianne teased. He was about to retort when she surprised him yet again, dropping the cloak around her to reveal herself only in bedclothes. Arianne straddled him, making Harry subconsciously grip her hips.

Oh, if his mother were here…

“Was there something you needed?” He asked, swallowing down his nerves.

“To talk,” Arianne replied, stroking his face, most of her attention on his scales.

“Talk about what exactly?” Harry ignored her comment. She was gracious enough to not pick it back up and led with something else.

“Something troubled you today. You kept looking at me as if you expected me to disappear. I would have brought it up sooner, but as you kept it to yourself I imagined it not being something you wanted to speak about in public.” She leaned closer to examine his scar, outlining it with her fingers.

“It is nothing of consequence.” Came his curt reply. Harry would not trouble Arianne with his own agitating thoughts. Especially, when he had already come to his own conclusions on them. No need to open a crypt once it was closed.

“Oh, speak with me on the matter. A different perspective may ease you to a solution.”

“I have already come to a conclusion, there is not point.” He made to ease her off of him, but she slapped at his hands playfully.

“Nonsense. Is it about a woman?” she asked with a playful grin, which she dropped at his deadpanned ‘yes’.

“I see. Do I know of her?” Arianne sat up, no longer teasing. She looked genuinely interested.

“Of course you do, it’s you.” He admitted, not very pleased when she burst out laughing. Harry rolled his eyes as he rolled her off of him. He made to get dressed, to go and be anywhere else. But, Arianne’s hand wrapped around his wrist.

“I’m sorry, Harry, I did not mean to upset you,” she said still giggling.

“You are not doing a very fine job at it.” He replied, gritting his teeth.

Arianne coughed into her hand, stopping her laughter, but with one look over his shoulder Harry could see a large smirk plastered across her face. It did nothing to sooth his ire at her mockery.

“Stop scowling, Harry, it is unfitting for your face.” Arianne guided him back down to sit on the mattress, coming up behind him to wrap her arms around his shoulder. It was true; she always did prefer him to smile. Either his wide smile that bared all his teeth or the playful grin he was fond of. Arianne didn’t care, so long as he was smiling.

“Tell me what about me bothers you. If able, I will see it fixed yes?”

“You are different.” Harry tried, not able to find the correct words.

“In what way? If you mean to say I’ve grown more beautiful, then I would think that it would please you.” Arianne joked, nudging her cheek against his.

Harry could not help but smile at her comment. Of course, she had grown more beautiful. It was a fact he had stated earlier that day, a fact he had told her openly many times. But, he ignored her fishing for a compliment.

“You used to want my attention, but today…you were just there. It was different than what our previous encounters had been like, odd even. I thought you…” He had come to terms with his previous thoughts, but they were still unbelievably hard to speak.

“Were no longer interested because you were promised to another?” Arianne supplied helpfully. Harry could only nod. It was puzzling to her he would think such things. She had been attentive to him, physical with him, and indulged his need to please all her cousins even though all she wanted was for them to be alone.

“I will not say that I am I happy about such a thing and to a Greyjoy too.” She continued, seeing Harry slump lower into himself. It was not much, but she saw it nonetheless. It would have been cute if not for the fact she had caused it and his melancholy was not in jest.

“But, I will say that for all my displeasure I do not blame you.” She finished, smiling as his head perked right up.

“You don’t?”

“No, I know it was not your doing. I am displeased with the situation, not you Harry.” She said comfortingly.

“Besides, for all you being promised to someone else, you certainly don’t look like you are unpleased with me.” Arianne motioned to the bulge in his pants.

“You are being a little presumptuous, princess. I have already relegated myself to not wanting you because of my betrothal. You did not seem to keen about fancying me either.” He jested back glad she was not upset.

Arianne released an unladylike snort before whispering into his ear.

“Please, do not play coy. I know you still want me.” She scoffed, softly skimming his skin with her hand until it rested on his thigh. He could feel himself hardening at her closeness to it, a feeling she could no doubt detect herself.

“And you wanting me?” He questioned, not having heard an answer. It should have been plain to him seeing as she was in his room, but Harry would still rather hear her say the words.

“You have stated that you think I’ve changed, do you know why?” Her voice had turned seductive all of a sudden, no longer the reasonable voices they had been using before. Harry shook his head at her question.

“It is not all about your future wife. I knew from the first moment I saw you I wanted you. But, I was only a girl back then. I had no knowledge of seduction so I did the only thing I could think of. I would keep your attention on me, keep you thinking of me. When you left I would write to you often so that even with you so far away from Dorne, I would never be far away from your mind.”

She pushed him to the bed and straddled him; similar to the position they had been in only moments before. Only Harry did not voice disagreement.

“And you were the ever dutiful friend. You sent back letters as quickly as I could send them, but always asking about my cousins, my family, and their wellbeing. You would tell me about your duties and sailing, all polite topics. They were so friendly. Platonic. Not at all what I wanted.” Arianne’s nail dug into the skin of his chest as a show of her displeasure. Harry hissed and returned in kind, digging his fingers into the muscles of her rear. Instead of hissing, Arianne moaned, grinding herself along his covered length.

“After the first frustrating year of it I went to my uncle’s lover, Ellaria, for advice. She told me that not all men fall for fluttering lashes, coyish giggles, and lustful stares. She said you wanted a woman who could understand you and speak plainly. You would not like neither flowery words or compliance.” She leaned down, scooting forward along his body so they were face to face.

“It was after she advised me that I learned. I would never have you by demanding your attention. There will be other women who do that, as would there be other women who would part their legs for you if you so much as whispered it. No, I needed to be something more to have you in all the ways that mattered. Something that the **girl** you are promised to could never be.”

Arianne gently caressed the side of his face as she planted a soft kiss at his lips. Harry was entranced by her speech, but nipped at her lips until she pulled away.

“I will be your escape Harry. When your duties or life trouble you, you can always come back here to Dorne. To me. You can lean on me; lose yourself in me when the world is too much. The Greyjoy will never be able to give you what you need, but I will.”

Harry appreciated her words. His heart soared at the implication.

**LEMON START**

**~3 rd Person~**

Harry captured her lips with his, his emotions overcoming him, and rolled until she was beneath him. Arianne’s tinkling laughter was a welcomed sound as where the pleased moans that soon followed.

“I came with an entire plan to seduce you tonight, but it seems to be unnecessary.” She moaned, working his breeches off his hips.

“You have done well enough.” Harry said pulling away to work her sleeping shift up her legs. He left a trail of kisses up her legs, stomach, and breasts as he pulled the material over her head. It heated his blood to hear the gasps that she made. But, Harry had a feeling she knew what she was doing to him.

Arianne was not idle. She groped, caresses, and nibbled at every piece of skin she could reach. When she had finally undid the knot holding up his pants, she pushed them down as far as she could before having to resort to using her feet get the offending garment past his knees.

Harry was dying to be inside her already. However, it would have been unwise. It had been a long while since he had last lain with a woman and knew that if he hurried, took what she offered so quickly, he would assuredly make it to the finish line first.

Winning first place in that regard was not something he wanted to accomplish.

He slowed himself, tried to calm his racing heart. Though he was more than ready and from wetness he could feel, so was Arianne. Harry slithered his finger inside of her, stroking to bring her pleasure.

“Not the part of you I want inside of me, Harry,” Arianne moaned. She had one hand tangled into his hair directing his lips exactly where she wanted them and the other stroking him, making his already hard member painfully harder.

“It has been many moons since I last lied with a woman. I don’t want first time I lie with the woman I have wanted to, to die so quickly.” Harry mumbled into her teat, words coming out in between nibble and suck.

“How considerate…add another.” Arianne commanded, groaning as he did as she bid. He motioned her to come hither inside of her while using his thumb to flick at her nub, all the while appreciating the chance to finally touch and taste her. She was as soft as she looked.

Arianne rocked against his fingers, her teeth worrying her lip and fingers clenched tightly around his hair. If she tugged any tighter Harry would have a bald patch. But, she wanted him and she finally had him. She had spoken true when she told him of the events which led to his lips on her, minus a few childish tantrums at the overly proper response of letters. To finally have what she wanted, it filled her with almost as much pleasure as Harry’s fingers did.

Her breast looked great in the normal clothes she wore, but uncovered they looked better than any sculptor could ever hope to carve or artist attempt to paint. They were little more than a handful with chocolate covered nipples. The only thing that would have made them more perfect was if they actually tasted like chocolate. Alas, they did not, but it was still his pleasure to lavish them with lips, teeth, and tongue.

Arianne was sure that if she ever went to any of the Seven Heavens, it would feel like Harry ministrations on her. His lips on her body, his hands touching her, his passion emanating from every pore of his skin, it was all too much for her. Waves build inside of her. A storm that threatened to see her come undone and scream out to all the gods.

So, for the life of her, she did not know what made her clamp her thighs shut around his hand.

“Are you okay?” came the question she had expected not even a moment after she had stopped him.

“Yes, I was to peak.” She replied, breathing in deeply and trying to ignore the ache inside of her that was cursing her for making him stop.

“That’s what I was striving for.” Harry replied back, tongue-in-cheek.

“As do I. But, I would have you inside of me when I do. I want you to feel it, just as I will feel you. I want this,” She took him and guided him, a little too hard in her haste, but Harry did nothing more than give a slight wince before complying, “to feel how much I want you.”

He nodded, rocking himself inside of her, allowing him to be coated in her wetness that made his penetration easier. She was certainly much tighter than he expected.

He was tentative and gentle, easing himself inside of her. But, that did not last long as she wrapped her legs around his hips and pulled.

“Fuck!” She ground out through clenched teeth, taking him to the hilt. Arianne had lain with one man before Harry. It had been a sweet affair, one she contemplated continuing when Harry was not around. But, while they were similar in length Harry was wider. He stretched her, deliciously so, but to a limit she was unused to.

“Are you okay?” He asked, stopping his movement altogether. She wanted to smack him for doing so. Even if him feeling him stretch her was a little uncomfortable, that did not mean it was not pleasurable. It straddled the line. It was his inactivity was just frustrating.

“Shut up and fuck me, lover.” She growled, releasing a guttural moan as he flexed his hips.

That was better.

Harry did not know if it was because of his emotional connection to her or if it was the lust he had contained for so long, but he could say that no other woman he had laid with felt better that Arianne. She surrounded him so completely; squeezing and taking him in as if her body was afraid he would go away. For every one of his thrusts, she met with equal measure and added a grinding squeeze at the end that had Harry forgetting to breath.

He grimaced when Arianne’s hand tugged at his hair and yanked his head down to meet her lips. She was shorter than him, by at least a head, making the situation rather uncomfortable as he had to bend down quite a bit to reach her and she had to crane her neck. Liking the feel of her lips too much to stop, Harry flipped their position to Arianne’s delightful squeal.

They did not miss a step as Arianne grinded against his hips, hand still clutched in his hair. She was more forceful in her kisses, her lips and tongue trying to dominate him. Her lewd moans and growls were music to him, but some of the words to fly from her mouth were unbecoming of someone devout in their faith to the Seven.

But, it just made her more beautiful to him. Her hair whipping behind her as she tossed her head in ecstasy, her chest heaving as she exerted herself with her movements, and the undulating of her hips as she pleased both of them was food and his eyes a starving man. She was wild, irrepressible, and passionate. Everything he had ever imagined her to be.

Harry grabbed at her perfectly sculpted arse, groping at it as her muscles flexed under his hands. He added in her movements helping her along, but allowing her to control the speed. Her heat was starting to make him melt and nearly erupt at their passion. But, he did not want to sire a bastard. Any child he would have with her would be treated well in Dorne, but he would not be so far from his children.

And his father and mother would kill him.

“Arianne, I’m about to cum…” Harry grunted, barely holding himself back. He hoped she would take the warning, because it was taking all his strength to not explode.

“Give it to me…” She replied unexpectedly.

“Arianne…” he tried again, the normal strength of his arms leaving him, as he could not push her off. She wrapped her arms around him, holding him close and biting at his neck and ear.

“Give it to me, Harry…I want to feel it…” She said quickening her pace, moving like a woman possessed.

“Arianne!” He warned, feeling the inevitable. She just felt too good, looked too beautiful, that words would never be able to describe it. Even as he tried to pull her off, she just held him tighter and made no indication of getting off. But, Harry preserved and grit his teeth so hard he was afraid they would chip. Or, he would have if he had the blood flow to his other head to worry about his teeth.

“Fuck…fuck…fuck…” she grit out through clenched teeth before tensing still. Harry held her close, glad that she had stopped. If she so much as-

Arianne screeched as her womanhood contracted him in a staccato rhythm, trying to squeeze a part of him from…himself. She jerked wildly, screaming curses and calling out the gods at the same time. Her nails had dug almost painfully hard into the nape of his neck and back.

As she thrashed on top of him in abandon, Harry knew it was over. There would be no more warnings, because he could not longer control it. He could not stop himself any longer as she moved on top of him. All Harry could do was grab her tightly and growl as he felt himself flow into her.

“Yes.” She moaned to him, slowing herself, but not stopping. “I want all of it.”

And she did her best to get what she wanted, squeezing and rocking herself softly. Arianne could feel him empty himself into her, feel his seed spurt in volleys before coming to an ooze.

She had taken another man, but that was something she had kept for Harry, for him to be the first to spill inside of her. It was a victory that she had been able to make him, a victory that would go unclaimed. Arianne had no intention of telling him he had done it first. There was no need for him to bloat in pride.

**LEMON END**

**~*~*~*~*~**

**~Arianne~**

Their breathing was ragged and labored, but Arianne’s smile could not have been removed with a chisel. When she noticed he was not as elated as she was, it sort of dampened the mood.

“What is wrong?” She had enjoyed herself greatly and knew he had if the feeling in between her legs was any indication.

“What if I have put a child inside of you?”

“Ah. I did say I had a plan, lover,” Arianne raised his head that had been downcast and lathered his lips with comforting kisses. “I know you worry about the name of your House and have taken precautions. I cannot be the one you run to when things become turbulent if you cannot trust me.” She explained.

“This information would have been appreciated earlier.” Harry groused, but did nothing to stop her attentions on him or withhold reciprocation. It was welcomed to know that she had taken his feelings into mind, even if it was not exactly the first of his thoughts that she had thought of.

“But, isn’t the thought of the forbidden so much more fun.” She grinned into his ear, biting at his jaw.

She squealed when Harry reversed their positions growlingly calling her a ‘vile seductress’.

Finally, she had want she wanted. It had been easier than Arianne had expected, but that made it no less fun or made her take less pleasure in her accomplishment. Her promise ringed in her head even as Harry made to take her again. That had not been a lie. She would be his port in a storm.

Arianne had not lied when she had spoken of her wanting him at first sight. It was nothing as sappy as love or of that sort. She lusted after him. He was strong and beautiful. The danger of wanting him made it all the more exciting. He was a Baratheon, the most tempting a man could get. Her father hated his family. It was rather ridiculous to her mind. If someone had stolen her, Dorne would have went to war all the same. But, what she did not agree with was the deaths of her aunt and cousins. They were of royal blood, they deserved better than what they got. That was why no matter how much more dangerous a Lannister would have been Arianne would never see herself with one. A strapping Baratheon with green eyes…

She had been incensed when Harry had written to her about his betrothal. The parchment crumpled in her hands and almost tore as her fingers clinched at it. The words scrawled across the page made her jaw tight and a fire burned in her hotter than the sun of her sigil. If she were a man, Arianne would have sailed to the Iron Islands and slapped the Greyjoy with her glove. Issued a challenge. But, she wasn’t a man. She needed to be craftier than a man.

So, Arianne came up with a plan. It was a well-crafted plan that took many nights to think up, so ensure all the pieces would fall together. So many scenarios, so much planning.

In the end, she hadn’t needed it.

 _He’s mine,_ she thought possessively. Arianne had him and she was going to enjoy him over and over again.

The Greyjoy girl may be his wife in name and that was fine. Hells, she would fuck the girl along with Harry. Just to show the Greyjoy who truly Harry belonged to. That just because the Greyjoy would have his name, have his children, didn’t mean he was hers. She didn’t really care where Harry poked his cock.

Arianne would have something far more valuable than that. She would have Harry’s heart.

If the Greyjoy wanted it, she would have to pay the Iron Price.

 

 

 


	8. Seduce the Kraken!

**Special thanks to my Dad he helped a lot in getting the finer details in line. Yara Greyjoy is modeled after the profile picture of her (as Asha Greyjoy) in the ASoIF wiki.**

**Hey guys! We are almost at 1k favs. I'm so happy. If we get to 1k before next Sunday, I'll upload a 2nd chapter :D**

**The rewrite is going well. I already have about 20k words in two chapters. I want to get a good amount of chapters in, so you guys aren't kept left waiting. I don't like when it happens to me, so I figured I wouldn't do that to you guys.**

**People might say that Yara is OOC. But, it's important to keep in mind that Balon hasn't gotten his talons in her yet. She'll still be her, for the most part. But, I've had to change her because of that fact. A lot of aspects of her are characteristics I've heard of, seen, or was told from female friends. I thought important to obtain a woman's perspective as the character is female. That being said...my friends aren't the most...normal people. And that is including the voices in my head. So, when reading, keep in mind that Yara is...well, fuck it. She's going to be OOC from the Asha/Yara we know from George Martin's work.**

**Hope you guys like it none the less. Leave a review to let me know what you think :D**

**291 AC**

**~YARA~**

It has been two months since her arrival at Dragonstone. The castle of the man who had crushed their ships at the Fair Isles and the boy who had killed her brother and forced her father to bend the knee.

If she were honest with herself, Yara would have said it not so bad. Even from her room in the castle, she could smell the sea and feel the breeze's light caress. But, she would never let them know that. She was their prisoner no matter how much they tried to pretty it up.

A gilded turd was still a turd.

A knock came at her door. Judging from the position of the sun in the sky, Yara knew who it was. The boy she had wanted to despise.

She had drawn all sorts of images of him in her head: a tall, lumbering, and dimwitted beast the most popular. He had to be strong and tall to force her father to bend the knee. It was almost disappointing when he was of average height. He was broad across his chest and shoulders with strong legs, but he was no giant as she had imagined.

He was no dimwitted beast either.

At their first meeting he spoke warmly and politely, every part the courteous gentleman. He offered an arm, gently forcing her to take it when she had not done so freely. He kept mind of her strides and was polite to servants, knights, and guards alike. His kind would have been seen as weak on the Iron Islands, particularly because of his…complexion.

Harry Baratheon was pretty.

Not in the sense of a woman, but he had none of the roughness of the young men Yara had known in her home. Men of her home were salt, piss, and vinegar. Harry was water, sweet wine, and honey. The sort of man green-land women would feel trembles in their knees for. He held himself with a soft-spoken dignity that did not match the stories she had heard of him as he battled at Great Wyk or Pyke.

His eyes were what gave him away to her, told her of what sort of person he was. His eyes were as bright as emeralds, but sharper than any gem. Calculating. Yara would never have imagined herself engaged to such a boy in her worst nightmares. Soft-spoken he may have been to her, but she knew the saying.

Speak softly, and carry a big stick.

Pretty. Sweet. Intelligent.

They were not words she could successfully attach to a man she had imagined to marry. A dimwitted brute that only knew of raiding and sailing, she could handle. Men of that kind were easy enough to lead around by the cock. She had seen enough women do it. Seen enough men make fools of themselves over a buxom figure and warm cunt. More often times than not, the comely appearance was absent.

Any port in a storm, they used to say.

Handsome, smart men were not so easily controlled. Their minds were traps for animals, not of one. They could will events to happen with their words and cut men down to size with their tongues faster than any blade. Of course, being good with a sword helped.

It was a dangerous notion and Yara did not know if she was to be happy or pissed at her upcoming union to such a person. Delighted because he was more than she expected or crossed because he would not be easy to cow.

She had been given a fair amount of freedom within the keep and already she had heard the whispers about her. Thankfully, none of them were about her seducing the young lord of Dragonstone. She did not know if her stomach could take it. The rumors of him taking her as a saltwife as show of his strength, to enforce Balon Greyjoy's kneel, that she could take. For them to think she fluttered her lashes at him and seduced him…such thoughts made her want to vomit.

She was Iron Born. She did not seduce. If Yara had any notion of wanting Harry, she wouldn't have seduced him. She would have taken him wherever she damned well pleased. A part of her knew that it was just pride talking. The young man had slaughtered her brother Marion and brought the King of the Iron Islands to his knees weeping and crying like a newborn babe.

But, for all her apprehension of him, Harry was…docile. He reminded her of the few times her father took her sailing. The way the sea rocked softly, like a mother trying to lull her to sleep. Calm. Inviting. That was how Harry was, not at all like the monster she expected him to be. The monster she desperately wanted him to be.

The door opened slowly without her permission. A head of black hair peered inside cautiously.

She wanted to snort.

He always entered slowly. As if she where always ready to lob an axe at him. The thought had crossed her mind and had been more than tempting. It would have served no purpose. Her father explained what was at stake.

But, if given the chance, Yara probably still would have. The real reason she hadn't was because she had no damn axe to fling.

"What in the bloody hells are you wearing?" Where the first words out of his mouth, his face twisted into a confused look.

Yara looked down at the dress the Lady of the castle had demanded she wear. Two moons of holding the woman at bay, two moons of wearing what she damn well pleased, and the woman would have no more of Yara's cheek. She had threatened to have guards' hold her down while Selyse stripped her bare and forced her into it. Yara very reluctantly gave in to the demand. She would rather have damned herself than allow the green-landers to paw at her like a piece of meat.

"Do you not like, my lord?" The title came out sarcastically.

"Your mother…suggested it." She growled, as she glared at the offending fabric. The stupid dress was sickeningly beautiful and definitely not something Yara would have donned by choice. Just having it touch her skin offended her. She would not abide with his mocking.

"Ugh," Harry groaned, "You'll have to forgive my mother. She has a picture in her head and anything that contradicts it does not suit well with her. I will wait outside, hurry up and change." He said as he turned on his heels and made for the door.

"But, your mother-" Yara tried. She would not tell him what happened, would not ask for his help. She was Iron Born, not some defenseless little girl. Though, in reality she essentially was for that occasion.

"I will handle my mother. Change." Harry commanded, as always his voice eerily gentle. Yara could almost delude herself into thinking it a request. But, she was not that naïve.

The dress could not come off fast enough. She grumbled the entire time about indecisive, fickle green-landers.

He was waiting for her outside of her quarters, with his back to the wall, arms crossed and fingers tapping at his sword hilt. She did not understand his need for a sword in his own castle. Initially, she thought it was Harry being cautious around her. But, from what she had discovered from the servants willing to talk to her, he always had his sword. Strange from what she understood of green-landers. She preferred believing he feared her.

Harry noticed her as soon as she came from her room. She was much more comfortable in clothes similar to his own: a leather jerkin over grey linen tunic and knee height leather boots that went over simple trousers. He seemed to appreciate how she filled it in, the trousers clinging to her long legs and jerkin stretched over her modest sized breast. If he were a man of a different composition she would have pegged him for having lustful thoughts. But, she doubted that was the reason he wanted to meet with her that day.

He presented his arm to her as he always did when she walked beside him. But, seeing as her arms stayed crossed Harry grabbed one of her hands and placed it on his arm as had become their custom.

She was strangely compliant when he made to do it himself.

They walked in silence and Yara, not for the first time, admired the walls of Dragonstone. They were strong walls of stone that were well kept considering the humid climate of the island. There were no mildew stains or water streaks from the rain or sea. It was with short order they made their way to the top of the castle, a beautiful view of the sea awaiting them.

He did not talk, merely held her hand on his arm, and Yara was not going to be the first to speak. She had tried to take her hand back once, but one of Harry's hands clamped over hers. Not harshly, but firmly and a look accompanied the action as if challenging her to try it again.

She did not.

"What do you want, Yara?" He asked, still looking into the ocean, finally let go of her. She could have been snide or sarcastic, but saw no point in it. She did not like him, but could respect the fact that he did not want to be married to her as much as she did not want to be to him.

"What does it matter?"

"I want to know." He replied, casually leaning his arms against the stone wall that came to just above his hips. She made no question to answer, instead stood her ground with her arms crossed. Harry looked at her with a raised brow and motioned with his hand as if to say 'well?'

"To command a ship." Yara gave in.

"Done." He interjected before she could go further.

His statement made Yara snap her gaze in his direction, mouth agape. No one just promises a bloody ship.

"Just like that?" She questioned, more than skeptical.

"Well, no, there is a price." Harry replied nonchalantly.

And there it was. Everything had a price.

He looked to her with a tilt of his head. When he spoke no words, she could only have guessed to what he wanted.

Her hands made her way to her jerkin, touching the buttons questioningly. What else would he want from her? He was going to get it anyway, what was a little earlier in exchange for a ship of her own. She would be free of Dragonstone with something to sail on. Yara knew she would have to be back eventually, but she could spend most of her time on her boat. She almost snapped at him when he took her hand in his.

"No, not that." He informed her, paying no attention to her glare as he took her hands away from her blouse and used one hand to redo the wooden toggle she had managed to slip off.

He was sure, confident, and not at all bashful. It was no stretched of the imagination that he had undressed a woman before. Probably many with the dexterity he demonstrated.

She frankly did not know whether to be impressed or offended.

"The price is my trust." He informed her, smoothing down her jerkin, touching her as if were the most customary thing to do in the world. She could not fathom why she did nothing to stop him. It wasn't lecherous or seductive, just done, like how a father would smooth his daughter's dress. The fact that his hands were so close to her breast did not even seem to register with him.

"And how do I go about buying that?" came her sarcastic reply.

"By listening." Harry replied bluntly. Yara shrugged, if that was all she had to do then it was a small price to pay. He didn't say she had to agree.

"I have always wanted to make Dragonstone great. We grow little, we have little, but we are in prime positioning in the sea." He preached, once again turning to stare out into the vastness.

"Aye. A strategic place to hold in case of invasion by sea." She agreed, but Harry just looked at her disbelievingly.

"No, not war. Trade." He said with an exasperated shake of his head.

"We control entrance to King's Landing, which holds roads north, south, and west. The opposite is also true. Merchants could sail to White Harbor but roads inland are dangerous and freezing. They could try and dock at Storm's End, but bigger ships would have to peril Shipbreaker Bay. They could go through the Sea of Dorne, but pass too close to the Stepstones, which is filled with brigands and pirates. Gulltown and Wickendon are mountainous terrain that would be extremely hard to travel. We hold the best entrance in and out of Westeros. We could become a central hub for trade and create great wealth for our Houses."

It sounded interesting, if a bit broad in its design. There were many things that needed to be filled in with specifics. The part to catch her attention most was 'our Houses'.

"And how can my House benefit from the wealth of Dragonstone?" Ignoring the fact that in short order, she would be of House Baratheon of Dragonstone, not House Greyjoy. If Harry had not acknowledged it, then she wasn't about to.

Yara did not believe in the Old Ways and did not like them at all. It made the Islands weak. If they killed for everything, there was always a chance of them being killed. And if they could raid to their heart's content, there would soon be nowhere to raid. They would have taken it all or people would eventually move more inland, better securing the few ports they would need to keep out of necessity. They were the best sailors of the seas. They should be ruling it, not using it to raid and run.

"Greyjoy do not sow." She stated.

"Well, that's good because I'm asking you to co-own what can be one of the largest merchant fleets ever to sail…not become a farmer." Harry replied back with a playful grin.

Yara found the stupid look infectious, as her the corner of her lips curled of their own accord. Only slightly, but there was no doubt he saw it. And once he saw it, Harry's eyes lit up. He knew he had her attention.

"You wanted a ship. I am offering you an entire fleet of ships."

Yara saw how happy he looked as he talked about his imaginary venture. He damn near glowed when he went on about it. It would have been nothing for her to crush his dreams, to talk small to him, but Yara could not find the heart in it. There was no purpose in her being needlessly cruel. It helped she found herself genuinely intrigued.

It would take much planning with learned men who could cover the logistics. Harry would have to find some way to fund the entire thing. Even, with only twenty ships they could rake in a significant amount of coin in a year. Not anywhere near the amount he was expressing, but enough to live decently as nobles.

"What would I have to pay in return?" Everything cost something. She may not believe in the Iron Price, but she knew that she would not gain all he promised without something in return.

"Not much, just convince the Ironborn to lend men and ships." He said offhandedly.

Yara could feel her face drop as she just stared at him with a deadpanned look. He may as well have asked her to give him the moon or to fuck her where they stood like a halfpenny whore. Both were more likely to happen than the lords of the Iron Islands giving help to him. He who men sung praises about for his actions during her father's rebellion. He who sunk numerous Ironborn ships and killed countless sons and friends of the lords she was to convince.

"Oh, is that all?" She asked sarcastically, rolling her eyes even as she leaned on the stone next to him.

"You cannot tell me that they all believe in the Old Ways. There are always some that go against the grain." He said, completely missing the point of her sarcasm.

"Of course there will always be. But, what of the rest? A few Houses of the Iron Islands, one that my father surely will not be part of, even if they agreed, they will not loan enough ships to make a difference. That would open them up to attack from other Houses. And what backing would they have to so willingly accept this proposal, ours?" She scoffed at the thought. They would be called young and foolish. Laughed at for an idea that while promising meant nothing coming from those so inexperienced.

"Well, of course ours. But, my father's too." Harry replied back with an equal scoff, his more jesting than her ridiculing one.

"I will convince him. It would not be such a hard thing to do. He will more than likely be pleased with the idea. Running a business is like being a lord. And with his support as Master of Ships, it puts us at an advantage."

Yara turned away. He had an answer for everything. That did not mean she would not poke whatever holes she could. For it to work, all the bases would need to be covered. One weak point and it would shatter like a ship crashing against rocks.

If she could think of it, then someone from the Iron Islands could as well. It was just their nature. They did not trust green-landers.

"There will still be Ironborn who want to raid. That has been too ingrained into some of them. They will not like paying the gold price." She was surprised when Harry just smiled. He clearly already had an answer.

"Then we let them." He leaned in close to whisper in mock conspiracy.

His breath tickled at her ear, his voice unnaturally husky. She could not stop the blush gathering around her neck and cheeks. Yara forced her eyes to stare straight ahead, not chancing a look at him or his stupid grin.

It may have been her imagination, but she would have sworn Harry was trying to seduce her. What else could he be doing with his enticing promises of gold, power, and raiding?

"Are you trying to seduce me?" She asked, not quite believing it. The entire notion sounded ridiculous as soon the words hit air. Even under torture Yara would have denied the slight hitch in her voice.

"No," Harry replied in shock, before his face morphed into a grin and he further invaded her personal space until their shoulders touched, "Unless it's working…then yes."

She could hear a voice in the back of her mind telling her to step away, not to allow him to get too close. But, her body refused to obey. Instead, she struck him in the arm with her elbow and garnered a laugh. She would have slugged him, but lacked the control to even make a proper fist.

She didn't know what it was, but the boy was maddening.

The worse part was, whether he meant to or not, his inane seduction was working. His words were alluring, enticing, and all the other 'ings' that made caused her confliction. His stupid laugh was like a siren song. Drawing her into peril with his undeniable magnetism.

But, Yara would force herself to resist. Her elbowed found his arm again, just to do something. There was no telling what else she would have done if she hadn't.

"You would support raiding of the coastal towns?" Yara asked, not bothering to reply to his unasked question, not trusting what her answer would have been. Her mind said 'no', but she could not fully trust her body. Maybe when it started listening to her. When her fist actually listened when she commanded it to punched him in his pretty face to wipe that gods-damn enchanting grin off. Then, she would trust herself again.

"No," he chuckled, causing her skin to flush even more. What in the name of the Drowned god was wrong with her, she was blushing like some silly little girl.

"We can use them as privateers. Raid acceptable locations such as the Stepstones. Any loot will be theirs to keep, after a small tax to us. We can even go with them once in a while. Show them that being married to a green-lander hasn't diluted any of the salt and iron in your blood." He added with amazing foresight. She could only nod, her throat unnaturally dry.

Yara hated to admit it, loathed admitting it. Every lesson her father had taught her warred with Harry's words. She was Ironborn. They paid the Iron Price. But, his words corrupted her already alternative beliefs. He turned her only slightly skewed viewpoints utterly treacherous.

What had the Iron Price ever gave them?

Her father had lost his crown and had to sell her like chattel to hold on to his seat as Lord Paramount. His life was spared on the whim of a boy who could have easily just sliced him from ear to ear.

It wasn't as if Harry was asking them to give it up altogether. They could still raid. Raid against those who had things of value to take, who would always have things to take. It was a better alternative to having all the other kingdoms loath them. They could raid, still hold onto some of their old beliefs, and would become richer and stronger than before.

She was all of about to agree when Harry added a caveat.

"But, I will not abide by them taking saltwives. There is nothing I can do about the thralls and saltwives they already do possess, but they will take no more."

That made it all the more difficult for her to sell it and she informed Harry of such. She had almost been completely seduced by his verses, his words that oozed into her mind like venom, until he had said that.

"Play to the crowd, Yara. Tell them of all that they could gain, if they would only give a little. They are your people. You know them best. You can make them say 'yes'. I may know nothing else about you, but I do know you have spirit. I would not have brought this to you if I did not believe you capable." Harry spoke honestly.

Yara hated herself.

She hated herself for being so weak as to be so easily tempted. So easily swayed by his tender encouragement. It was hard not to. The only person to give her kind words was her mother. And she had not been in the best health when Yara had left Pyke. Harry was just so warm, so damned inviting, to turn him away would have been like kicking a child.

And what reason was there for her to hold out?

Harry was promising her a fleet, gold, and power, even if she had to share all of it with him. It was more than she could have imagined when her father had informed her of their betrothal. More than she would have had if still with her father and more than she have hoped for if she were to marry anyone else.

There was only one request that she needed, one thing for him to promise her. If Harry gave her that, she would have no will to resist.

"I want to fight. I won't be some green-land woman who sits in a castle waiting for babes to slither out between her legs. When we raid, I will be on the shore with the men, taking my spoils. Iron is in my blood, I will feel it in my hands." Yara said, turning to him with a determined look on her face. She would do as he asked, but he had to agree. Yara would not settle for anything less than exactly what she had demanded.

Part of her wanted him to say, 'no'. It would have given her an excuse, a reason to hate him, to deny him all that he asked of her. Even, if it meant receiving nothing, she would not yield to him unless he gave her that. No matter how tempted she was to just give in.

"Iron is so crude. Steel would be better." Harry joked, copying her step to him with one of his own in good-humor. They were practically chest-to-chest.

Her arm lashed out. She had every intention of roughly grabbing his collar threateningly, but her body had betrayed her. Instead, she could feel the skin of his neck against her fingers. The urge to curse was real, but she held her tongue. She would give nothing away as her mistake.

"Do not speak to me as if I am stupid and do not toy. That is my price. I want a ship and I want to fight." She glared and growled; all too aware of how close his lips her to her face.

"Very well. We areto be married and though we may never hold any affection for one another, but I would see you happy if I can help it." Harry sighed, as if admitting such a thing was some great tragedy. He was entirely too flippant, something that bothered her greatly. Especially, when her own heart was threatening to come out of her chest.

"Say it." She demanded, yanking at him.

"You first." He fired back in a teasing voice that grated on her nerve, still grinning that damned insufferable grin.

"Deal." The word had been scratching at the back of her throat, demanding release and it left her lips in a harsh hiss, as if they were angry with her.

"Deal." He replied, tone matching the stupid look on his face.

She hated that look. Hated the stirring it caused in her, the way it made her flush. No woman would have blamed her; Harry was handsome-looking. They way a corner of his lips curled ever so slightly, how his eyes glowed brightly in laughter. He cut a fine figure: tall, broad, and strong. Harry was everything a woman could have wanted, even with the imperfection above his eye. And Yara did not know why, but it irked something inside of her to have him look at her that way.

Genially. Friendly. Jokingly.

She was to be his wife. He should want her, lust after her, or something. Yara was not so naïve as to believe they loved each other, but she wanted something more than his contentment, his pleasantness.

She knew she wasn't the most beautiful woman in all the Kingdoms, but she looked good enough to at least inspire some wanting. The pimples that had plagued her had cleared, leaving her porcelain skin unblemished if not slightly wind chafed. Her nose was too large for her face and sharp, but not enough to make her undesirable or abnormal. Her hands may have been a bit rough, but that came at the price for their strength, and her lips were thinner than most women, but still kissable. She did not have the most pronounced of breasts, but they more than noticeable. All her time aboard a ship, fighting the to and fro of the waves gave her nice, strong legs and a firm arse.

And yet, Harry paid attention to none of those things. He stared into her eyes when they spoke, never touched her in a way hinting to him desiring her. It was with courtesy, a sense of propriety. The look never changed, whether she had worn the dress or breeches, his look never changed. Even, in their position, when all he had to do was tilt his face just slightly to kiss her, he used his lips to grin, his eyes boring directly into her own.

Yara hated him. Hated that his smile made her blush like some silly girl, hated that he was so kind, and hated how his lips unknowingly taunted her to taste him. But, most of all, she hated that it was only her that felt such things. Harry was more than comfortable with talking business, jesting with each other like old men at a tavern.

"Are you going to let go of my neck soon? It's starting to develop a crick—"

She just couldn't take it anymore, his congenial indifference to her. Something inside of her snapped. Made Yara realize how nonsensical she had been. She blamed it on his stupid smile and bizarre eyes. They dazzled her dim in their luster. It was not a mistake she would make again.

Her blood was of iron and salt. She was Ironborn, what did it matter if he wanted her or not. All that mattered was what she wanted. Ironborn took what they wanted. It was one of the Old Ways that she agreed with.

Want.

Take.

Have.

It was ridiculously easy to maneuver Harry's back into the short wall they had leaned on previously. Yara took a small pleasure hearing him grunt as he collided with the unforgiving barrier. His hand made to push her off, but she just swept it away before grabbing it. Yara put it exactly where it belonged, where she wanted it: right on her arse. Her fingers flexed around her own, making him grab her. She would make him appreciate it, appreciate her times spent fighting against the sea. He would realize that no green-lander woman would have an arse firmer or finer than hers.

Yara's other hand scrapped against the short hairs along the side of his scalp before finally finding purchase at the longer strands on top of his head. With a tight grasp she forced his neck just far enough for her to rise on her toes and take what she wanted. It would not be said that he helped her. That he had given assistance.

She. Took. Him.

No one had wanted to kiss her before. Boys had mocked at her for her pimples when she had been young, so Yara did not exactly what to do. She just did what felt natural, whatever she damn well pleased. And it pleased her to find out if Harry did taste the way his words flowed; as sweet as honey.

But, as she smashed her lips against his, bit at him, and forced her tongue into his mouth. She had to admit he did not taste sweet. He tasted like pheasant, probably what he had last eaten.

However, he was intoxicating.

When he had gained enough sense to press back against her she could feel herself getting lost in their moment. He knew what she wanted, how she wanted it. His hands groped her backside in earnest, almost to the point of it being painful, but falling just shy. He had no problem returning her treatment as he grabbed the base of her neck and pulled her to him. Harry gave as well as he got. She was enjoying herself so much, not paying attention to how Harry had gripped her hair in a vice like grip. Yara groaned when he yanked her head to the side and attacked at the side of her neck. A moan left her unconsciously when he started to nibble and suck at her flushed skin and it was her turn to grin. An open-mouthed grin that allowed her breath to leave her in pants.

She had been right in her earlier assessment; Harry had been with other women.

But, she did not mind so much as he used skills he had learned from them on her. They didn't matter. They were nothing. There was no love between her and Harry, maybe never would be. As long as the others, if there were others, knew their place he could fuck them if he wanted. Harry just had to be ready when she wanted to take him. Yara would quickly remove anyone who made Harry forget what she was.

She wanted him. Took him. He was hers. If anyone stood in the way of that, they would learn how truly heavy the Iron Price was.

_Gods, why couldn't he have been an arse…_

~Harry~

 _Life is what we make it_.

It was a saying Harry remembered. A cliché standard that people used to make themselves feel better. To make them feel like they had total control of their lives. He used to believe it too. Harry used to believe that if someone had the will, the destiny of their lives could be altered.

Changed.

It could…to a point. Muirgen was the perfect example of that: a bastard born to the North that became the first Dame. Such a life was one fit for stories, tales taught to other children of lower standing, because for them, it could very well come true.

But, climbing up a ladder was much easier than climbing down. There were always people on the rung above that could lend a hand. Much like Harry had done for her. She had more than earned her title, but regardless of her deeds Muirgen would not have had it if not for him. That was not bragging.

That was fact.

Harry did not have her luxury. He had learned that at an early age. When he had been younger, he had been about the high road, the good road. But, life had been quick to smack him down. He had been taught that even the high road still sometimes led to hells because people made it that way.

The world he lived in was not a peaceful one. War was the way of the land and the only way for peace to reign was to fight. The saying, 'if you want peace, then prepare for war' was never so apt as it was to where he lived.

He had tried. Honestly, he had. To be good, to be peaceful, to give the chance he had an honest shot. All he wanted was a normal life. But, it was all for naught. No one liked peace. Even when there was peace, people, high-born and common alike, called for blood. When he was younger, Harry had been appalled. It was not the life he wanted.

But, nature had taken over. He had been forced to adapt or become extinct. Peace was always going to be preferable to him. But, he was not the same boy anymore. There was no more hesitation, hadn't been for a long time.

There couldn't be.

'You have to mean it.' That sickly, mockingly childish voice played in his head.

He had to mean it. There was no room for second thoughts in his life. Swinging a sword hard and fast were the only options most times. If Harry didn't strike fast enough, his chance would be for nothing. His lives would mean nothing.

When steel could not work, the answer was gold. Steel and gold are the only true kings: a sad, but unfortunately truth.

That was his reality.

It could have always been the reality, but he was too stubborn to see it. How many men had he seen waltz away from justice because they had enough gold to spread around? How many slip through the cracks because people feared the reprisal of their power?

Love could not protect him anymore. It was a wondrous thing, a powerful thing if wielded correctly. But, it was also the end of many. And he would not see his end because it failed him.

He would not fight valiantly, but in vain again.

When it was all said and done, no one would be able to hurt him or those precious to him because he lacked strength. No one would be able to question his power.

_For all his misgivings and evilness, he at least got that right…_


	9. Chapter 9

**Hey guys this chapter is a fast forward chapter. It’ll have snippets of Harry’s life.**

**294 AC – Dragonstone**

**~HARRY~**

Harry pinched the bridge of his nose as a headache that had been building for hours assaulted him. Half a dozen old men stood in front of him, various ledgers and documents in hand. They all believed their issues more important than the next, while Harry thought all their concerns were inanely simple to fix. They were most times. But, his advisors were all trying to curry his favor, had been since his and Yara’s business had taken off.

He wasn’t there when she called a meeting of the Houses on the Iron Islands, only her words and letters to know how it went. The meeting was long, taking two and a half moons before they concluded. Yara had been most passionate about their venture and convinced four Houses to invest: Houses Harlaw, Goodbrother of Old Wyk, Botley, and Blacktyde. Apparently, it had something to do with throwing axes and insults.

It sounded like something she would have done and she had gotten results, so Harry didn’t question her too much about it.

Harry had been surprised when House Greyjoy offered nothing; she was Balon’s daughter. But, he should not have been surprised. Not every family was as close as his was. In fact, the relationship between Balon and Yara had gotten worse with her supposed betrayal to her blood. Harry did not know if Balon expected Yara to kill him for taking her brother’s life instead of helping him start the business.

The lords contributed ten ships with men to crew and 5,000 gold dragons each. A small sum and amount of men, but it was better than nothing. An agreement of only a fifteen-percent tax as well as a promise to pay their initial invests within five years. Harry had promised to pay if the business had done well. He had Yara make it abundantly clear that their merchant fleet was a risk. There was always the chance that they all made no coin. That the venture could fail. The mention of risk and the promise of greater riches than they could make raiding, only made them all the more eager.

The greatest risks yielded the best rewards after all.

His father had reacted as Harry had expected, very pleased that he had a workable idea to make their House great. Also as Harry had predicted, Stannis had used managing a business as good practice for when Harry would be lord of Dragonstone one day. He had given Harry command of 30 ships and invested 20,000 gold dragons and sent word to hire learned men who knew of economics and commerce. Harry had been grateful at first, glad that he would have men more intelligent than him to not only start the business, but also keep it thriving. He had been happy until they had started to give him daily headaches.

There were always problems, problems that they should have been able to handle themselves. He had delegated their tasks to them, told them to bring him weekly reports at their meetings so they could go over important details. He also set time aside each day for ONE of them to teach him how they did their jobs, so he may better understand.

The first few moons had been well enough, with only a handful coming to him before the weekly meetings with issues. But, after six moons, they were at him like he was a steak and they hungry dogs.  He had half a mind to dismiss half of them, so he would only have half the headache. But, the business was still too new. It needed constant attention. The kind of attention he was still not learned enough to give it himself.

In addition, Yara had brought up the fact that they could create more business if they reconstructed Dragonstone to become merchant friendly. They could set up a bazaar, rent the space to merchants who would rather trade in Dragonstone than transverse throughout the Seven Kingdoms. In order to make the area more hospitable they could construct taverns, inns, and brothels. They would have others run the business for decent wages, but Harry and Yara would own the business proper.

It was an idea Harry whole-heartedly agreed with, because after only a year business was good. They were well on their way into making Dragonstone an unofficial trading hub between west and east. Merchants traveling stopped at Dragonstone to resupply or to rest their sea-wary legs before making their way to the ports of King’s Landing. He would still have need of his annoying advisors until everything was settled. Internally, Harry knew that it would only be a few years, but he still dreaded them. Thoughts of swinging his sword at them were becoming more graphic and more of a real threat.

They were quieted as the door to his study opened and Harry peered around one of his advisors to see why.

Yara.

She had only gotten more beautiful after they had gotten married. Her wind-chafed skin had cleared even more, partly due to them staying at Dragonstone to get their business off the ground, and her legs had gotten even longer. He was pleased to say that her arse had not lost any of its firmness after spending so much time on land. Hours a day at the training yard with him, Muirgen, and Mya made sure they all stayed in good health. Well, aside from the bruises. Her breasts had grown slightly, not becoming obscene, but slightly bigger than they were before. His hand was comfortably filled with them.

Harry and Yara had developed a friendly disposition towards each other and got along as well as a husband and wife could in their position. They trained together, ate together, discussed every matter relevant to their business, and fucked like rabbits. He would have been surprised that she was not with child yet, but knew that she routinely drank moon tea when he spilled inside of her. It was both their decision to avoid having children for the time being.

His mother had not been pleased when he had ‘allowed’ Yara to wear what made her comfortable or that he and Muirgen were teaching her to fight. She complained that it wasn’t what respectable ladies did. But, Harry didn’t care. He had given Yara his word that he would see her happy. If swinging around an axe and holding a shield made Yara happy, then so be it. Selyse was also put out at not having been made a grandmother yet. She thought her good-daughter barren, but Harry assured her that children were in their future. He avoided adding that it just wasn’t in the near future. They already had a child, their company, and that demanded a lot of their attention.

When it wasn’t on the business, it was on each other. A small reward to his mother that he and Yara got along well. She just could not wrap her mind around the fact he enjoyed a woman who acted like a man. He just told her he would see his wife happy and his mother would quit the subject for a few weeks, until Yara had done or said something that caused his mother to start again.

He often wondered how long the equilibrium Yara and him would last when she finally learned of Arianne. Harry knew it would only be a matter of time before Yara started to question why he went to Dorne so often a year and why he stayed so long. She hadn’t yet and Harry was not going to volunteer the information for the sake of the peace they had.

Whenever he returned, she would have had her lust pent up for as long as he had been gone and would attack him as soon as he landed. His parents had been none to pleased by their public display of affection, but Harry personally thought they were just envious.

“Leave.” Harry heard Yara command. The advisors blustered at being dismissed so off-handedly, before looking to him to correct her. He didn’t, just leaned back into his chair and watched, no doubt in his mind at the amusement that would follow. They did not know how grateful he was for Yara’s timely intervention.

“My husband grows tired of grown men looking to him to do their jobs. You are paid good coin to handle these things yourselves.” She said, leaning against the wall.

“Keep find yourselves wanting and you will be cut.”

“The word you looking for is ‘released’, my lady.” A portly man sneering with thinly veiled arrogance. But, Yara just stood to her full height. Not as impressive as the man’s, but she was certainly more intimidating.

“No, releasing you from your service never crossed my mind. I meant cut,” She replied with a malicious smirk, fingering the axe at her hip lovingly. It took everything Harry had not to burst into laughter. Not because she looked funny, but because he knew she would do it. Maybe not kill them, but ‘accidentally’ take a finger, sure, that sounded like Yara.

“I won’t repeat myself.” Yara held open the door to his study and nodded at them to leave. They couldn’t stumble out fast enough. Before the last one could even get fully through the door she slammed it shut, hitting the straggler in the rear, and earned an indignant yelp. He couldn’t hold it any longer so Harry let out his laugh softly, pleased that Yara smirked along.

She rarely allowed herself to show her smile. Harry appreciated it when she did. His wife was beautiful on many occasions. When they trained in the yard, she was beautiful in her fury and determination. When they fucked she was passionate and uninhibited, wanton in with lust. When she sailed Yara had a contented kind of beauty, serene. But, she was so much more beautiful when she smiled. He may not love her, but he did hold some measure of affection for her.

“How did the trip to the Iron Bank go?” He asked after his laughter had subsided.

Their first year of business had just ended and they had left over coin. A percentage of their retained earnings went to his father and the lords of the Iron Islands who had invested, paying a small portion of their initial investment and their fair share of profits. The crews were paid by their respective lords, which meant Harry only had to pay the men of the _Prayer_. Another percentage they invested into having more ships built to further expand their business. The last of it was theirs to keep. Harry had suggested using what they had to make Yara her own ship as he had promised her before they were married. But, his wife was a smart one.

Yara had said it was better for them to use what money they had and invest with the Iron Bank. They would give loans to other merchants through the bank. The bank would invest their coin in solid ventures for a fee; while Harry and Yara got their initial invest with interest in a number of years to be determined by the bank and the loaning party. They would also buy property across the sea and rent the space to other business owners. It would create another source of steady revenue. Summer had lasted years and when winter came it would be just as long. Trade would be much more scarce when winter hit. A good source of steady income was a good idea.

Harry knew that his wife missed sailing, as they did not sail as much as she would have liked, and asked her to take the left over gold to the Iron Bank. He had expected her to take her time, enjoy the sea, and maybe even take a detour. But, she had returned much earlier than he had expected. Which was why he had not set a watch to look for her ship and why he was not down at the port to greet her.

He was jolted from his thoughts when his chair was slid across the stone floor of his study. Yara had dragged him from behind his desk to have enough room to straddle him. Her hands curled into his hair, a position it always seemed to find, and tilted his head just enough for her to capture his lips. It honestly surprised him. She had not been gone that long, a week, yet she tore at him as when he returned from Dorne after a moon’s time.

But, he returned her harsh affections with equal measure. They had been together as husband and wife for a year and Harry knew what Yara liked. It helped that she was very vocal about exactly what she wanted.

“The bank, Yara.” Harry said, moving to her neck to lavish it in his attention. He wanted her mouth free to talk.

“Ugh, it went well,” Yara moaned as she gripped his hair tighter and steered him, “They took their fee. The bastards wanted another one when the sums were to be paid, but I convinced them to charge the borrower that interest.” She pulled him away from her neck and again claimed his lips. Harry allowed it to continue for a few moments before pulling a way. No easy feat considering that she was easily making his loins stir, but he would rather get business out of the way than tend to it later. She was not pleased at him pulling away and yanked at him to bury her face into his neck.

“How’d you manage to do that?” He groaned as she bit at his flesh and ground against him through his pants.

“Told them they would make more money if the interest was against the borrow per year than a single fee against us.” Yara replied between her attentions to his skin.

Harry dropped the subject, satisfied enough with the answer, and roughly groped at her arse and teat. It was not ‘making-love’ with them. Yara enjoyed fucking like she fought: roughly. It was a battle between them, one that led to a mutually agreeable ending, but a battle nonetheless.

She was not the type to moan meekly as if embarrassed or allow him his way. He had to take her, make her bend and move the way he wanted. And she did not make it easy. Yara clawed and fought just as hard, determined to be the one to dominate him. It wasn’t out of humiliation. That’s what made it fun to her.

Though, he could have gone without the marks that made it look like he had been attacked by a wild animal. After a night together, Harry was covered in claw and bite marks. But, he couldn’t complain too much, as he marked her with bruises from his sucking and imprints of his fingers at her hips, thighs, and wrists.

“You’re particularly amorous. What brought this on? You’ve only been gone a week.” He asked, lifting her unto his desk. Yara wrapped her long legs around his and pulled him into her, hands on his arse with an appreciative squeeze and grin.

“What? Can a wife not want her husband?” She challenged, ending her question with a gnashing of her teeth against his bottom lip.

“Now shut the fuck up, I’m busy here.” Yara growled. Harry chuckled, but ultimately surrendered.

He wanted her happy after all.

~*~*~*~*~

**295 AC Dorne**

**~ARIANNE~**

Her back was to her bedmate as he rained down kisses on her shoulder. She could feel it through the thin silk she wore. Arianne should have been more in the mood, been more up to the occasion. He was adequate, attentive to her needs and always enthusiastic. However, the longer she went on with him, the more she found him lacking.

She wanted to lie to herself. Say that she was just getting bored with him, that he was no longer pleasing to her. And it wouldn’t have been a total lie.

He did not longer please her.

The stirring she felt for him had muted. She could still come to orgasm with him; use him as she saw fit to bring herself pleasure. But, as time went on her eyes had to be closed more often and he had to be quieter and quieter. If he so much as grunted too loudly, then she would have to start over. Her fantasy would be shattered as reality came crashing down on her.

It had been many moons since Arianne figured out why he could not please her anymore.

_He’s not Harry._

It was a truth she hated.

Not that she blamed him or even herself. They were creatures of their circumstances. Harry would always be a Baratheon and her father would never agree to such a union. Even, if he did it would have been too late. Harry would rule Dragonstone one day and regardless of what her father said, she would rule Dorne. Neither of them could give that up. And she would never ask him to. His love for his family was too high for him to even consider it.

There was also the pesky fact that he was already married.

Arianne could have cared less that Harry was married. He never brought up work and never mentioned his wife while they were together. When they were in Dorne, they could be as lovers were. Nothing mattered but the two of them. But, that did not mean she missed him any less when he was gone.

She knew he had to go, accepted it long ago, but that did not bother her any less. He did the best he could juggling his life on Dragonstone, his business, and her. She truly knew that. Arianne knew he came as often as he could, but it was hard to be satisfied with him visiting only a few weeks every few moons.

She wasn’t jealous of the Greyjoy. The girl could never compare to her when it came to looks from what she had heard from rumors, never compare to her in the bedchambers, because she was Dornish for the sake of the Seven, and the squid would never truly have Harry’s heart. She couldn’t. The girl was of salt and iron. Rough. Harry needed someone soothing and warm.

He needed her.

But, Arianne knew she would be lying if she did not admit that she was slightly envious that Harry spent most of his time with the Greyjoy.

Arianne pulled away from her bedmate when a knock came at her chamber door. She pulled the silk dress around her shoulders up, ignored the puzzled sound from her company, and opened it.

“Hello, cousin. What brings you here?” She greeted her cousin Tyene politely as she could with her troubling thoughts. The blonde girl’s smile dropped slightly at her fake smile.

“Well, I had a present for you. But, I don’t know if I want anymore considering the rather poor welcome for your favorite cousin.” Tyene teased with a pout.

“Cousin, I love you and normally, I would love to banter, but I do not find myself in the mood at the moment.”

Tyene peered over Arianne’s shoulder and saw the man on the bed. She could see her cousin struggling to contain her smirk. No doubt Tyene thought Arianne about to lie with him. She wouldn’t have been wrong minutes ago, but there was no more inclination left in her to do so.

“I can see why,” Tyene said before lowering her voice, “Since you seem to be busy, you probably won’t have time to read this.”

She held up a roll of parchment so close to Arianne’s face it took a moment for the princess to notice the seal. When she did, Arianne snatched the letter from her cousin’s hands like a snake. As she was about to open it, Tyene coughed slightly and nodded towards the man on her bed.

“You may go, Damien. I no longer have need of you.”

“What? Are you all right? Has something happened?” Ser Damien Sand questioned, confused. It was sweet, but Arianne did not have the patience for it. She merely held open the door and shooed him out, not bothering to answer his questions. He went, but disgruntled and half dressed. Not that it mattered to Arianne. He was a convenient distraction, a person to satisfy her. Nothing more. If he did not want to come to her anymore after that, then she could always find another.

_If I even want another._

At the start, Harry was forbidden fruit. He had only been asked to stay with them out of decorum. It was expected for her father to invite visiting lords into his keep. Harry had walked in, smiling brightly and looking pretty. He was beautiful when he smiled at her with his eyes shimmering. Then, she had seen him in the training yard.

It was like watching a wild animal fight, ferocious yet methodical. Arianne had not remembered a time when someone younger than Obara had put her through her paces. He quickly became a puzzle she wanted to solve. A contradiction: furious and calm. Gentle, yet so dangerous. That fact he was the most forbidden thing, a Baratheon, only made him all the more appealing. She had not lied to him when she had said she wanted him as soon as she saw him. Arianne did, if only to bend him to her will. The irony of their situation…

She had never expected to fall in love with him.

 _Love_ , she snorted internally, _what a sap I have become_.

“What does it say?” Tyene asked over her shoulder, after closing the door.

Arianne scanned the message, Harry’s pretty scrawl strewed across the small raven letter. As she went word after word a smile could found itself widening on his face. A smile that did not go unnoticed by her cousin who poked her in the side. She squeaked in surprise, whipping around to glare at her cousin.

“What does it say?”

“He sails to Dorne.” Arianne said carefully rolling up the letter.

She should have been happy he was coming back. And she was, but knew that even as he came, he would have to leave again. Arianne wanted to smack herself. She was the one who had initiated it, told him that they could go on the way they did. Their separation was supposed to help her let him go, while enjoying him the times he was in Dorne. But, all it served to do was make her want him more. It was knowing that no matter how hard she wanted something, people where keeping it from her. It made her crave it even more.

She could have any man or woman in Sunspear, but the one she yearned for would never truly be hers. It nearly drove her mad. She wasn’t supposed to be the one yearning for him. He was supposed to want her when he discovered what a frigid shrew his wife was, lose himself to his passion when around Arianne.

_The gods damn irony…_

Arianne wondered if her father felt how she did when her mother had left. She wondered if it wasn’t his disease that kept him from taking other women to his bed, but his heart. Sex was a great thing, but he abstained from it even though his gout was manageable. Her uncle Oberyn had many bed partners, many lovers that he shared with Ellaria. He was so confident and powerful, a man she could look up to. But, she was starting to question of whether or not it was her father, her ever-loyal father she should have been looking up to. He stayed true to her mother even though he could have had his pick of any woman in Dorne. Arianne had never understood that.

But, she was beginning to.

~*~*~*~*~*~*~

**295 AC**

**~MYA~**

Mya looked to her liege lord, standing at the bow of the ship as they sailed back home. He had spent nearly three weeks in Dorne, spending every waking moment with Princess Arianne and the Sand Snakes. It was not the first time she had gone with him and Mya knew it would not be the last.

She could not help think him hypocritical.

Harry was a good man, a good lord. He had bought her weapons and armor and with Muirgen’s help, taught her how to use them. He never complained about her asking him to train even when he was really busy; Harry always made time for her. She was his squire and he taught her things she needed to be a good knight.

That’s where his hypocrisy came in.

For someone who took honor and oaths so seriously, Harry had a funny way of showing it. He had a wife waiting for him at Dragonstone, but he still took trips to Dorne to spend ‘time’ with Princess Arianne. She knew she owed him her loyalty and it was given, but that did not mean she didn’t judge him for his actions. It did soften her opinion slightly to know he was conflicted about his choices. He always stood at the bow of the ship when they sailed back from Dorne, always wanting to be alone with his thoughts. Mya had to give him that much.

“What is rolling around in that head of yours girl?” She nearly jumped out of her skin when Muirgen approached her unheard. For such a tall and strapping woman, she was oddly quiet.

“You said that we do not judge, but can question our lord right?” Mya asked, still remembering how Muirgen acted the first time to Dorne. She was very careful about speaking against Harry after the incident.

“Aye, he won’t begrudge us our questions. Encourages them even, always looking for a different angle he is. Ask your question and speak plainly.” Muirgen replied, sitting on a crate of Dornish wine.

“Harry takes loyalty serious yes?”

“Aye.”

“Then how can he continue to lay with Princess Arianne when he is already married? Does that not go against the vows he took before the gods on his wedding day?”

Mya turned to prepare herself for the onslaught that the taller woman would no doubt give her. There was no one more loyal to Harry than Muirgen, no one who would take it as an affront to their own personal honor if someone spoke ill of him. Mya couldn’t blame her, she respected Harry too, would be loyal to him for all he had done, but that didn’t mean she didn’t have her own opinions or questions.

She was surprised when Muirgen just smiled understandingly.

“He doesn’t believe in the gods, so what good are the vows he makes to them?”

That had not been the answer Mya had been expecting.

“What about honor and loyalty?” She struggled to ask, not quite wrapping her head around Muirgen’s first answer. The woman just laughed at her second question.

“How exactly has he compromised his honor?” Muirgen asked with an amused grin.

“Well, he…he’s lying with a woman not his wife,” She sputtered before lowering her voice. The men of the _Prayer_ were also loyal to Harry. They would not like her questioning him when it was only over the fact that Harry slept around. Some of the men probably did too. They would see it as nothing to gripe over. Sleeping around was just what men did.

But, she didn’t buy that. Harry spoke of honor, loyalty, and duty. He forsook all three every time he ‘visited’ the Princess of Dorne.

“What of it,” Muirgen shrugged, “I do not know of him promising Yara that she would be the only woman to grace his bed. She is a Greyjoy. They are no strangers to saltwives. Not that Lord Harry thinks of Arianne as such, but the sentiment still stands.”

“But-“

Muirgen shook her head at the young squire and moved over on her crate to have the girl sit down. She waited until Mya did to continue.

“I can understand your thinking, but you are disillusioned with tall tales they speak of knights. The only vows that Harry has made to his lady, the only ones that matter, are that he would see her happy. He promised her gold, power, and his best to see her happy. Does she not look happy when you see her?”

Mya thought about the question. Yara did look happy. She had more privileges than other ladies. She sailed, had equal say in the business she shared with Harry, and trained, as she wanted. There was nothing that Yara would want that Harry had not given to her. Mya could only nod her head, not accepting that his behavior was acceptable.

“So how has he broken his honor or his loyalty to her? He completes all the duties expected of him as a husband. To be honest he does more. He actually cares for her happiness. But, you must remember that for all of it, our lord is still human. He has feelings of his own. He has affection for Yara, but he cares for Arianne as well. Yara is his duty and he completes it well. Arianne is where his heart goes . Denying one’s heart tends to cause grave wounds that one could never recover from. Can you honestly say that you would do differently?”

Mya’s throat became dry at the question. She could not honestly say. A part of her wanted to say ‘yes’, to say that she was better than that. Better than Harry. But, even as she thought it, Mya knew it was a lie. She could not say for certain.

. They were the closest things she had to matters of the heart. Muirgen was her family and she had sworn both of them to Harry. That was why is was so hard for her to not see him as perfect, for him to not hit the standard she had set for him.

Harry had always seemed so…just and confident. But, with every trip, he fell even lower in her eyes. He knew what he was doing was wrong, but did it anyways.

At least, that’s what Mya had thought.

She was not so sure anymore. Muirgen’s words had made sense. It wasn’t as if Harry had chosen to marry Yara and abandoned her. He was forced into his marriage. He did his duty for family and the peace of the realm. But, even so, he did care for her and took care of her. They held no love for each other, was it so wrong that he sought love elsewhere?

Mya ran a hand down her face. She had started resolute, but her beliefs came into question.

“Do you think he’d stop seeing the princess if his wife asked him to?” She asked, not knowing what else to do. Muirgen looked to roll the question in her mind for a moment before shrugging.

“I don’t know for certain. Our lord is stubborn, but dutiful. If she asked, I have no doubt it would cause him mental anguish. But, ultimately, yes, I think he would do his best to stay away.”

“What? He would fly across the sea and trip into the princess’s bed?” Mya scoff, which had Muirgen laughing so hard she needed to lean on something lest she fall to the deck of the ship.

“You know what your problem is girl,” Muirgen asked as she righted herself, “you have this standard that you hold our lord to. He’s to be some paragon of virtue, chivalry, and that other tripe that children hear.”

“Is he not supposed to be? He speaks of-“ Mya was cut off as Muirgen waved her hand dismissively.

“All great men are just men, just as we are just woman. You think all those stories, the people in them did not have shortcomings, did not have vices. History forgets such things in the name of greatness. Even Balor the Blessed had something wrong with him I’m sure.” Muirgen said casually, as if she did not serve him like he was a paragon of knighthood.

“And that is okay with you? You, who serve him more faithfully than most septons worship the Seven, are okay that he is just a man?”

Muirgen’s face grew severe at Mya’s question, humor gone from her.

“I know Harry is just a man,” Mya had never heard Muirgen refer to Harry as anything other than her Lord, she knew the subject had just become serious, “But, he’s a better man than most; a more loyal and honorable man than most. He has done more for the people around him than most. Aye, our lord is not perfect. No one is. But, he is closer to it than any other I have ever met. I am not so old, but even I know that when you have something better than most, you do not let it go for what you believe to be greener pastures. Think about were you would be if not for him. Truly, think and show me that space between your ears is not empty.”

Mya did not have to think. She knew where she would be if Harry had not taken her in. At best, she would work and toil for a wage. It was something she could see herself doing, maybe enjoying. It was the worst that Mya did not like. At worst, she would have resorted to whoring for coin, for food, and shelter. That was something that Mya could not see herself doing, but she doubted many whores aimed to have that life.

“I see you know. So, answer me this. You prefer that or this,” Muirgen said, waving her hand to the ship, “You have traveled, you learned to fight, you own good armor, and live in a castle. You have never gone hungry or thirsty. How many bastard girls do you know can say the same?”

All she could do was nod. She knew the answer: a handful at best. Bastard girls did not become squires or knights and certainly did not become ladies. They became wives to farmers, to blacksmiths, to fishermen, or became whores. It was hard to see all that since Mya had become a squire and would one day become a Dame, just like Muirgen.

One day.

“You have fallen into a trap than many more intelligent that you have plummeted into. You choose to see everything wrong, rather than all the good.”

“It is easiest the see the mar of blackness, no matter how small, against the white.” Mya said. Muirgen smiled at her analogy.

“Aye, nothing is immune to dirt and dust. If you truly notice all that, then take a step back. Sometimes we must step back to clearly see how astonishing something is.”

~*~*~*~*~

 

 

 

 

 

 


	10. Chapter 10

**295 AC**

**~YARA~**

Yara sat in their bedchambers staring at the gifts she had made for Harry while he sailed to Dorne. She had the best blacksmith in King’s Landing travel all the way to Dragonstone to make it for him. Well, her too.

Harry had long since grown out of the armor he had used during her father’s rebellion. She knew he had been meaning to get another one made, but their fleet and business still required a lot of care. Harry knew that she much rather be sailing and handling the ships than the paperwork and dealing with the advisors, so he had gracious volunteered to handle it. Even though they gave him headaches, robbed him of his patience and strength, Harry had done it for her. She grudgingly called it sweet, but only to herself and only in her own mind. Yara had made sure to show him properly what she thought of it when they retired. The word would just never leave her mouth.

That was why she had sent a ship full of men to find the man who was proclaimed as the best blacksmith in King’s Landing, a man from Qohor by the name of Tobho Mott. She had offered him quite a bit of gold for his travels and offered him a nice place to stay at the inn they had just built. Tobho was the best, so they said, and Yara would not settle for anything less.

She had commissioned two sets of armor, two swords, and a shield for herself.

It was a nauseating sweet idea, Yara admitted. One that her good-mother had inadvertently given.

Selyse wanted to have Yara and Harry tailored for clothes, something so they could compliment each other at great feasts to show their new status as successful merchants. Yara knew it was the woman’s excuse to put her into a dress, but the idea had given her one of her own.

Yara had commissioned Tobho to make them matching armor, better armor than the one Harry had. It was to be simple, as neither she nor Harry was prone to extravagance. She had tried to think of the design herself; Harry liked sappy shit like that. But, ended up having to collaborate with the blacksmith as her imagination came up empty.

For something supposed to be simple in design, nothing seemed good enough.

The armor was gray or matte steel and consisted of a breastplate, pauldrons that were solid at the shoulders with grey scales to cover the upper arms, gauntlets, and greaves. Yara had done her best to draw the scales on Harry’s face so Tobho could replicate them for the scale of the armor. The only adornment was the charging stag heads on the visor of their helmets in copper.

She had thought of having a kraken on her helm, but realized that she did not really hold any more loyalty to her old House. Her father had all but disowned her when Yara had started to work for her gold rather than take it. She might have cared, if not for the fact the merchant fleet had earned her more gold in a year than her father currently had. Due to all the war reparations the lords of the Iron Islands had to pay for their part in the rebellion, it was likely Harry and her had earned more gold than all the Iron Lords on the island of Pyke.

It was hard for Yara to hold any loyalty to them, when her own father had held none for her when she ‘asked’ them to help in their start-up business. He had tried to shame her instead.

But, it mattered little.

She had a fleet of ships, on its way to being larger than his, more gold than he ever had and loyalty of four Houses from the Iron Islands. Yara would wait. Wait until the sight of his other lords carrying greater spoils home brought him to her. And she would make him crawl and beg on hand and knee before she said, ‘yes’. Well, maybe not even then depending on what Harry had to say on it. Her husband still held a grudge against her father for rebelling at all.

The swords she had commissioned were similar to what Harry had, but longer to compensate for his added height and the steel no longer blued at the base. Yara found the look ridiculous. Steel was beautiful on its own; it did not need to be colored like glass. She also changed the steel circle for one of ivory; a small showing of their success, with the words engraved and melted iron poured into the crevices made.

Yara had Tohbo only make one item that was specifically for her, a steel parma that could be wielded in hand as well as slung over her shoulder. She did like swords. That was why she told Tobho to make her one exactly like Harry’s in the length of an arming sword, but Yara preferred the axe. And a shield was necessary to offset the axe’s small reach. The thought of buying another axe from Tohbo had crossed her mind, but her husband gave the one she had to her. It was made of weirdwood, the same as the handle of his sword, with a sharp bearded steel head that was fitted and then secured by strips of leather.

 Not a common gift for husbands to give their wives, but Yara had appreciated it regardless.

Okay, so maybe Harry wasn’t the only that liked sappy shit.

She had done all of it for him; to show her appreciation for the life he had given her. He had not delivered on the ship he had promised, but that was not completely his fault. The most important was that Harry had kept his word. He did his best to see her happy. And she was. Yara had everything she could have hoped for. More than most women had from their husbands.

But, something had irritated her when he husband had gone to Dorne yet again. Every few months he would go and stay for weeks at a time. And every time he came back he would pay more attention to her. It would level off the month he was to leave, before picking up again a week or so before he left. Yara appreciated the attention and inclusion in everything he did, but it nagged at her. She knew that Dorne was one of the places that they traded, but nowhere else had demanded his personal attention as much as Dorne.

It took a while for her to put everything together. The constant attention, the frequent trips, the change in him before he left and when he came back.

Harry had a woman.

But, that was not why she was bothered. She had grew up around men with saltwives and while Harry would never take a saltwife, sailors were known to take whores on their stops back home. She could have cared less if he stuck his cock in some whore.

No, what bothered her was that he was trying to hide it.

They had done many things together, overcome the barrier that had been put between them because of the part their Houses played in the rebellion. Yet, despite what her family had done Harry had never treated her with anything but kindness and some semblance of affection. Because of that, there were many things she was willing to tolerate and accept.

But, his lying to her, his hiding things from her was not one of them.

The door to their chambers opened and Yara knew that fate was on her side of the matter. Her husband walked in, a small smile on his face, his hands behind his back.

“I have a present for you.” Harry said, bringing up his hands to reveal a beautiful necklace of delicately worked iron with yellow diamonds. Seeing his smile only served to heighten her ire. His lips curled into a smile, but she could see it did not reach his eyes. It may have just been her minds playing tricks on her, but Yara saw guilt in his eyes.

She snapped from her seat and swung her fist at his face. He was clearly not expecting it, because she could feel her knuckles skin across his flesh. It wasn’t direct contact, as she would have wanted, his reflexes where to good for that. But, whether she hit him didn’t matter. Yara just wanted to swing at him. If she did make contact, then all-the-better for her.

Harry stepped to the side and threw the jewelry on the table.

“If you didn’t like it, you could have just said so.” He tried to joke, but Yara wasn’t falling for it. His stupid grin would not save him from her ire.

“I don’t give a fuck about the necklace, Harry!” She shouted, lashing out again. And again, Harry stepped out of the way and circled her.

“Well, then what is it? Use your words! Use your words!” Harry elbow blocked a punch to his ribs, and then brought his other arm to deflect a shot to his face. He slipped under her follow up hook and pushed her to the wall.

“I will tolerate many things, husband,” she spat out, “but, not you hiding things from me.”

“Ask your question, then. I have never lied to you.” Harry placated. Yara stalked to him furiously, her face only inches from his.

“Fine. Why do you go to Dorne so often?” His face fell at the question. He wore the same look he did every time he left. Yara knew it was not her imagination. Harry felt guilty about something.

“Is it a woman?” She carried on, annoyance lacing her voice. Yara made to ask the question again when he was silent, but he beat her to it.

“Yes.” He sighed, looking down at the floor in shame.

“Why the fuck would you hide that from me? I don’t care if you fuck some whore-“

“She’s not a whore.” Harry growled, steel in his eyes. He looked as if he made to come at her, but Yara would not back down.

“If she’s not a whore, then who in the hells is she? Some homemaker? Is that why you-“

“Arianne Martell.”

Yara was brought up short. Out of all the names she had been expecting, it was never one that she thought to know. And the Princess of Dorne was the last gods-damned name she had ever thought to come from his lips.

Worse than her surprise, it made her angrier.

Whores she could understand. They were just like pints of ale or skins of wine at a tavern. It was a business transaction, certainly more civil a matter that Ironborn and their saltwives. There were no feelings when whore were involved.

You paid. You fucked. You left.

But, to hear him say he was sleeping with the Princess of Dorne, Yara was of two minds. On one side she was impressed that Harry had managed to bag himself a princess. Stories had said that Arianne Martell was a buxom and beautiful. On the other, she was not a proper whore. Harry didn’t pay her for sex. That meant he had feelings for the Dornish girl. Why else go half ways across the world for her when he had a warm woman in his bed waiting and willing for him?

Yara did not know if she wanted to hear him say it though. Not because she loved him, but because to hear him say it meant she was lacking.

She had given him Ironborn lords and helped him build their business. He had given her things in return, things that she probably would not have had if she married anyone else. She knew she was far from perfect, but there was one thing that Yara would not find herself. That was to be found wanting.

“I am sorry. It was not meant as a slight to you.” Harry said softly, taking her silent contemplation as anger.

 “Would you stop seeing her if I asked you to?”

Harry looked genuinely surprised by her question. She could see the brief struggle inside of him. It danced plainly all across his face. He sank into a chair rubbing his face vigorous before he spoke the words that Yara could see hurt him.

“Aye. It would pain me greatly. But, yes, I would.” He admitted reluctantly. It robbed Yara of the wind that had been as her sails. She wanted him to fight her one it, to give her more reason to be angry. But, he had done the opposite and her fury ebbed, if only a little.

 “They are all whores to me. Anyone you lie with that isn’t me is a whore, Harry.”

He turned away with a snort, clearly not liking it. But, Yara didn’t care. It was the truth.

“Would it make you more agreeable to this conversation if I called the Dornish girl your mistress instead?” It was meant in sarcasm, but Yara took it seriously when Harry glared at her before nodding reluctantly. There was very few differences between a whore and mistress, but apparently Harry cared for those differences.

“Very well then, I don’t care that you have a mistress,” Harry looked a bit suspicious, but she ignored it and powered on, “You can fuck whores up and down the coast. You want to go to Dorne and fuck the Martell girl, then go ahead. Hells, I’ll go with you and we can fuck your princess together, at least we show strength in our unity,”

That certainly got a positive and badly hidden expression from her husband.

“What I will absolutely not tolerate is you hiding things to me. Lying to me. We are supposed to be partners. Our marriage was built around our business partnership. That is supposed to be stronger than relationship between husband and wife. Especially, for people of our station.”

“How do you figure?” Harry asked with a queer look on his face. Yara plopped on the chair across from him.

“Business partners can go out drinking and whoring and neither one of their wives would be the wiser. Sailors do it too. I am not stupid enough to believe that men are chaste when they go on voyages.” She explained.

“Does that mean you wish to take a lover?” Yara snorted at his question. So like a man. He expected it to be okay for him to have a mistress, but not her to be a mistress to someone else. But, that was the world they lived in. She was not stupid to believe otherwise.

“As fair as that would be, no.” Harry looked at her to explain, something that Yara rolled her eyes at. He was normally smarter.

“If you go whoring around no one will bat an eyelash. If I do it, not only will our House suffer for it, but our business will as well. People will think you weak for not being able to keep hold of your wife. When I get caught, because it is always a matter of when not if, then we will be the ridicule of the Seven Kingdoms. In short, you get caught having a mistress no one suffers. People learn I am a mistress to someone else our business goes into the privy. That’s why you tell me these fucking things. So I don’t get blindsided. Any show of surprise, any show of weakness, and we can kiss what we have built goodbye. If I know, I have a chance to play it. I can say we both fuck her, that I don’t care you have taken a girl I consider to be a saltwife, or any other manner of excuses. But, if I’m surprised I can do nothing! I’m some stupid woman who does not satisfy her husband. I will be pitied. I will not stand for their pity. Their derision I can handle, their disgust that I would lay with another woman and my husband, but their pity will get my axe!” She finished, removing her axe and slamming it on the table between them.

Yara took a deep breath to calm herself, taking small pleasure in Harry’s surprise. She was still irritated about him hiding about such things so she did not show it. But, as he had said, it was not a slight to her. Yara knew it was to spare her feelings now that her anger had been leaked. It was stupid, remarkably stupid of him to do so, but she could understand it.

“You are being remarkably lenient about this…” He stated, still a little skeptical. She could understand that too. Many wives, especially ladies, turned into shrews when their husbands slept with other women.

They were stupid.

What could they actually do to stop their husbands short of killing every woman they sleep with?

Nothing.

It was not fair. But, whoever believed that life was fair was an idiot and should have drowned themselves long ago. Life wasn’t fair. Life was cruel and harsh. The only good things in life were what people made of the cruelty. That was the way the world was and so long as people inhabited it, that would never change.

She could have turned into a bitch when Harry had admitted his ‘infidelity’ or she could turn it into something positive.

If she played nice with the Dornish girl, Yara could ensure that Harry’s loyalty was never divided. He might have said he would have left the princess if Yara asked and she believed him, but it was better to be sure. Plus, it would serve to put her above the Martell. Harry would always know that it was Yara that had ‘given’ him the princess. That she did not put him in a position he had not wanted.

 “What’s that?” Harry asked, finally noticing the large area covered by a sheet. Yara walked next to him and unveiled the armor and swords.

“We needed armor, so I had us made armor.”

Harry looked at the presents, marvel written on his face and in how he touched the steel and copper. He saw her helm, the smaller of the two. He traced the sigil on it before turning to her.

“You bare the stag.”

“Aye.” She said with a nod, finding herself amused with his shocked expression.

Harry turned to her fully, taking her hands in his. Yara thought him to kiss them, but he seemed hesitant. Most likely due to the words they had exchanged previously. She had no idea why; she had said he could keep going on with the Dornish girl. Yara could see the brief spark of enticement when she mentioned them having at the princess together. So it irked her that he did not kiss her.

“Are husbands not supposed to kiss their wives when they come home?”

“Well-“ Yara raised a brow daring him to speak anything other than the answer she wanted. He was going to make some quip about being unable to because she raised her hand to him. Well, not only was it was his fault, but Yara did not care for his excuses.

“Yes, of course.” Harry said coming closer to her.

“You have given me many things today,” She knew he did not mean the armor, “I will never forget it.” He decreed.

Yara just smirked and put her hand on the back of his neck, dragging him so close their lips a hair’s width apart.

She spoke the word that caused the hairs on the back of Harry’s neck to stand on end.

“I know.”

~*~*~*~*~

**296 AC – Stepstones**

**~MUIRGEN~**

The sun was high as was morale. The men were ragged and tired, but the thought of gold and treasure drove them on. It was to be the first permissible raid on the Stepstones. Lord Stannis had said that pirate activity along the Narrow Sea was at an all time high, probably thanks to Harry’s growing business. Harry’s merchant fleet had increased two-fold in number in almost twice the amount of years, coming to a hundred ships strong and Muirgen didn’t mean cogs. They were Ironborn longboats, carracks, and newly built galleys with good men to sail them.

When Harry had built the ships, his advisors had said they would have no men to sail them. But, Harry had scoffed at them. He offered work to the smallfolk of King’s Landing, gave them a decent living and good wages. People flocked to Dragonstone in droves. If Harry and Yara hadn’t already started rebuilding the infrastructure of the island, they would have had to, to support the influx of people. Men, seven hundred and fifty in total, and their families new residence of the small island. There was still plenty of room, as Harry had been advised against overcrowding, but the island was more full of life than it had ever been.

She helped patrol the bazaar that merchants has setup their booths and the business had been established to make the stay more comfortable and enjoyable. Muirgen had walked those streets for a year and was always still amazed. There was a street for everything any merchant or sailor could want. The market was in a cross pattern with North and South streets being the longest.

The bazaar was rightly named ‘Bazaar Street’ and was far the largest, stretching completely from North to South. Merchants rented spaces and setup their wares for coin or trade. People could buy steel, wine, ale, brandy, exotic produce, horses, gems, and even the occasional dragonbone. Because of all the activity it was also the heaviest guarded. There was an armed guard every six stalls and a two roving patrols from sun up to sun down when everything on Bazaar Street was ordered closed. Most of the guards were men who had served with Harry on the _Prayer_ or young men vouched by one of the crew. The guards knew they weren’t a City Watch, they were private security and were paid well for the cushy job, so they did it well. They did carry swords, but their weapon of choice was a mace or bludgeon. Harry didn’t want them killing anyone more than necessary, but they would keep the peace. There were a few squabbles at first, merchants who disagreed over prices, but they all learned that crossing the Market Guard was just as severe as crossing Harry himself. They weren’t just beaten black and blue, but a fee for disturbing the peace was issued and they were taxed heavily on their wares. Men may fear death, but the loathed losing coin even more.

The street from center to West, which was closest to the dock was ‘Spirit Street’, a long stretch of land that was covered in taverns and inns. Some of the taverns had room above that could be rented as well. Spirits and ales and wines from the world over, from Arbor and Dornish wines, to pear and plum brandy of Tyrosh and the Summer Isles, to the stout ales of the North, Spirit Street had it all. Because it was so fueled by liquor, it had the second highest presence of Market Guards and many of the establishments had a small contingent of bouncers. Large men that looked like their mothers had mated with a bear kind of men. There were more brawls there than on any other street, but the small army Harry kept there ensured that everyone behaved. There were always a few cuts and bruises, with the perpetrators being sentence to the rest of the crew’s stay on their respective ships. The penalty was to be paid by the ship’s captain. It ensured that men who came ashore knew that they were business guest, and rules applied. The first and only captain to question such a rule had to answer to Yara, who ‘accidentally’ dropped her axe on the man’s foot. He lost a small toe and a few teeth when he ‘had the nerve’ to curse at her.

The final street was the smallest, but the most decorative. The buildings on Red Street were made of the finest marble and had silk drapes and stained glass windows. It was the equivalent to the Street of Silk in King’s Landing. It was not as big, but grander in its opalescence. A regular passerby could have mistaken the pillow houses for fancy inns. Harry and Yara had personally selected the Madams who would manage the brothels, the guards who would monitor the inside, and a medicine man to prove healthcare such as moon tea. Girls had been hired, because all the whores were free women, from all over Westeros and Essos, only the most beautiful being selected by the Madams. They were whorehouse; there was no cleaning it up, but all the establishments were very up scale. Whore not only slept with customers for coin, but also sang and danced and served them dressed scantily. It was a way for the women to display their wares, attract customers that would always come back, even if the trip were across the sea. Customers were not only charged for the women, but entrance, food, and drink. They could even board there if they had the coin to buy the girl’s time and room. That way the girls kept most of the coin they earned and were able to keep all the gifts or tips they were given. The house would have been paid well before customers made it through the first doors.

Lord Stannis had not been happy with Harry for approving the building of brothels and was even more displeased to be informed that Harry and Yara actually owned the brothels. The inns and taverns, he could live with, but to hear his son was a peddler of the flesh…Muirgen swore that if people were able to spew fire Stannis Baratheon would have turned into a dragon. Lady Selyse hadn’t been pleased either, but she had been easier to placate that Stannis.

Harry had explained that with him and Yara owning everything, there was no room for corruption. The worse case scenario would be the managers of the businesses embezzling and that was easily handled. Since Harry and Yara owned everything they could enforce the standards, keep everything in order. Seeing her son so in charge had Lady Selyse practically gushing. The woman would not shut up about her son being a good knight and a respectable businessman. Muirgen had never heard the term used more loosely, but was not surprised. Selyse was nothing if not the doting mother. As far as she was concerned Harry shit gold and farted rainbows. Stannis had not been so easy. The man wanted several policies in place; from medical experts to provide moon tea and ensure venereal diseases did not spread to setting a legally binding law that there would be an age limit that women could work.

It was Harry’s turn to hit the ceiling. Her lord had been beyond offended that his father did not think he had thought that far ahead. When Harry had lashed at his father, his mother had joined in, while Stannis did his best to look like a tomato in embarrassment.

As entertaining as Stannis’s predicament was, the best part of the Market was that neither sector was doing better than the other. It was small, but had everything sailors out at sea and traveling merchants could want. They did not need to venture far to find what they looked for. They could pay their fee at the dock, walk into a tavern for a drink or look for a room at the inn, setup their wares on either side of Bazaar Street, head to Red Street, and hit their stall on the way back to the docks or to go grab another drink before they went to their inn to sleep. Every part of the very small city was prosperous and Harry and Yara were getting richer by the moons that went by. It had done so well, Harry had asked his father permission for the Ironborn who had helped in making Dragonstone a success to raid the Stepstones. Stannis had agreed, saying that Harry had already given his word that the Ironborn could, but Stannis was to approve when. It would not do to raid constantly, lest the pirates and smugglers become too prepared. Attacking infrequently and sporadically would confuse the pirates, as they would not be able to spread word to others of scheduled attacks.

The Ironborn had not liked taking orders from Stannis, but knew there was intelligence in his plan. Reavers the Ironborn might be, but they were not stupid. It helped that Harry and Yara reminded them that it was because of the support from the Master of Ships they had all made a lot of gold.

That placated them enough.

Their small raiding party was a league from the shore when Harry came to sit beside Muirgen, his trademark grin on his face. They had used three Ironborn ships, as they were some of the fastest ships to sail with, and no more than three hundred men to include Muirgen, Mya, Yara, and Harry.

“Nervous my friend?” He asked jokingly. Harry already knew the answer to that.

“They are pirates and smugglers my lord. Not exactly men trained to fight warriors like us.”

It was true. Pirates and smugglers weren’t Ironborn. They did fear drowning at sea, so normally kept to lighter armors like leather. And not wanting the Ironborn to think them fearful, Harry had told them to wear full armor when they set sail. Men clad in leather fighting against a small army in full plate were hardly a troubling thought, or even a fair fight.

“When we reach shore, all the hells will break loose. If Mya keeps to our training, she will know that we are to stick as one. But, if she manages to break off and you see her, go with her.”

“My lord, I am your Sworn Shield. What good is a shield if not at the wielder’s side?” Muirgen asked, not liking the idea of not having Harry’s back.

“You’ve done an outstanding job of protecting me, but I can handle myself better than Mya can. She has only been training for a few years. You have been teaching me to make corpses for over a decade and I have made plenty of them. Mya trains hard, is a good fighter, but has not killed anyone yet. She may hesitate and we both know what happens when you hesitate.” Muirgen nodded at his explanation.

They did not know how Mya would act when she took her first life. Even if the men were pirates and smugglers, everyone reacted differently. Muirgen had thought nothing of it her first time. It was a way of life on Bear Island. Reavers would come, wildings would come, and the people of Bear Island had to kill to survive. Harry had taken it pretty well considering, serving justice to those that would do others harm. She wondered if Mya would be the same.

“But, as I said. That’s if she wanders off or falls behind. We fight as you and I fought at during the Greyjoy Rebellion. We move as one. The Ironborn already know Yara and I are taxing them so the four of us will all get an equal share from that.”

“Don’t forget you can keep what you kill.” A broad woman said with a grin.

“Aye, let’s not forget the Lady Blacktyde.” Harry agreed with a charming smile, one that had the older woman thinking Harry a minnow and her a shark, if her own smirk was any indication. If the woman only knew…

Muirgen had no doubt that if Harry were not already married to an Ironborn the older woman would have tried to take him as a…salthusband?

She remembered the rather crude joke Lady Blacktyde had said when Yara had introduced Harry as Ironside.

‘Which side is the iron? Front or back?’ she had asked cackling, before giving Harry’s arse a smack. Muirgen expected her lord to be offended and for Yara to bury her axe in the woman’s sternum. But, they all shared a laugh instead with Yara insisting it was both.

Needless to say Yara and Lady Blacktyde had gotten along famously after that. Yara bragged and Lady Blacktyde eagerly listened. Muirgen was sure that was as close as Yara had ever gotten to acting like a _proper_ lady. Sitting and drinking rum while bragging about their amorous activities was their version of Ladies in Waiting needling and sharing gossip.

“Well, Ironside,” The woman leered, “you and your Grey Knights may want to gather your wits. We hit shore in moments and when we do, we hit the first few crews we see, before heading back to the boat. Hit them and we sail off before the sun even thinks of setting. We can head to Lys to sell the wares we don’t want.” Lady Blacktyde had informed them. Muirgen did not like the idea of the woman thinking she was in charge. No matter how entertaining she was.

Grey Knights. What the Ironborn called them. Muirgen did not really know who thought of the idea, but it went somewhere along the lines of greyscale, Greyjoy, and grey armor. It was meant as a jape, condescension to their skill. Ironborn did not believe in knights after all. Still, it was a name Harry had taken a liking to and if it was good enough for her lord, then Muirgen took the name with pride. They did wear grey armor and at least two of them were knights. Muirgen hoped that after the raid, Mya would have proven herself enough to earn the title as well. The girl was still brash and uncouth, but she was a good girl.

“No,” Harry stated plainly, standing until he towered over the big boned woman, “We sail past and land on the eastern side. Half the crew will unload the first ships we find of cargo and the other half will taking care of any land parties they may have. Then we head straight for Dragonstone. Yara and I will take our cut. Only then can you sail to where ever you will fetch best price for your wares and sail back to the Iron Islands to show off your riches.”

Lady Blacktyde had a frown on her face at being told what to do by a green-lander. She turned to see Yara had stood beside Harry in a show of force. Her frown quickly evolved back into her shark-like grin.

“Ha! Seems you got a front and back of iron, but your tongue is steel,” she punched him in the shoulder with a nod.

“You ever grow tired of him girl, you let me know. I’ll have him. Always good to have a man with good, long iron.” Lady Blacktyde said reaching for Harry’s front. To his credit he didn’t back away, just raised a brow. Yara grabbed the Lady’s wrist before she could touch what she wanted.

“Maybe I will, Lady Blacktyde. But, until then, the iron’s already got a sheath.” She said.

 _Two really,_ Muirgen thought to herself.

The Blacktyde matriarch just cackled before striding towards the head of the ship to give out the orders. Muirgen saw Yara grab Harry’s ‘iron’ with a grin and wink. Her lord shook his head in exasperation, but his lips curled into a small smile.

Muirgen was not one to judge people their customs. Especially, if they did her and her charge no harm. But, even she could only shake her head at the display. No one had ever said that Harry was normal, that the Ironborn were normal, but even Muirgen would have agreed with anyone who said that they were beyond abnormal. They were a very, very strange people. She decided to just stop trying to understand them.

Or, she might become just as insane as they were.

~*~*~*~*~

 


	11. Chapter 11

**298 AC –Dragonstone**

**~Stannis~**

Life had been good to Stannis. For once in his life, he had nothing to complain about. There was no slight to him that caused his teeth to grind. Shireen was growing into a good woman, who took well to her lessons with the septa. His son and good-daughter had made a success of their marriage, and formed a successful trading fleet.

Perhaps, they were far too open with the affection they showed each other, but he considered them newly wed still. They would calm their amorous activities when they grew older.

At least, he hoped they would. There was only so many times he would go to knock on his son’s bedchambers only for the Dame Muirgen to send him away because…his son and good-daughter were ‘discussing matters important to their business’. Even if he had not heard the passionate groans and moans that managed to get through the cracks, Stannis would not have bought the excuse. He could not even complain that he had no grandchildren yet, because Harry had already explained that they were waiting until their business was self-sustaining before bringing in another life into the world. It had not pleased Stannis as the time, but as events unfolded, he found himself thinking his son wise.

 Harry had planned to visit Winterfell with his wife to visit her brother. The ships had been readied with provisions, gifts for the Stark family, and horses to take them from White Harbor to the Stark’s ancestral home. Yara had been looking forward to seeing her brother again, even if she had just seen him the year previous, and had not been too happy when Stannis had denied them leave. Seeing his wife about to give into her rage, Harry had been quick to respectfully confront him.

He ordered several of them into the Painted Table, a room with an accurately painted map of Westeros, and explained his reasoning.

As Harry, Yara, the Dames of House Beartsone, his wife, Ser Davos, and Melisandre, who had been ‘invited’ at Selyse’s insistence, sat Stannis informed them that his brother, the King, had no legitimate heirs. The sons and daughters masquerading as his children were bastards born of incest to Ser Jaime Lannister and his sister, Cersei Lannister.

Stannis had been trying to think of a way to speak the secret to his brother, tried to find solid proof that the Crowned prince and his siblings were not of their blood, but had failed to think of something concrete. A small part of it took some semblance of joy that his brother, who was so infamously known as ‘The Whoremonger King’ was actually a cuckold. For years Stannis had tried to tell his brother to quit his life style, to make better decisions, and in the end it was he that was actually be shamed. For all the bastards Robert had sired, he had never attempted to put one in the line of succession. No, that prize had gone to the queen, who had put a crown on her golden haired bastard’s head.

Recent events had helped Stannis make his decision. Or rather, had made it for him.

His brother had died, hunting of all things. The one past time his brother loved had ended up killing him. The irony would only have been thicker if Robert had died in a whorehouse.

To make matters even worse Ned Stark, Warden of the North and Lord of House Stark, had been arrested for treason and his two daughters held captive.

It did not take a skilled commander to know the world was going to devolve into war. Stannis had been too slow to act, too slow to prevent it, and if he were to be honest, a little afraid. To cross Cersei Lannister meant crossing Tywin Lannister. And no one crossed the Old Lion lightly. There were songs about how Tywin Lannister dealt with his enemies and two Houses wiped from the annals of history because of it.

Whatever plans Stannis had made were null and void. New plans had to be drawn up. They couldn’t very well let a Lannister bastard sit on the throne. The boy had only been sitting on it for a few days and already the balance had been destroyed. Ned Stark imprisoned, Ser Barristan Selmy released from his lifetime oath as a Kingsguard, and other general disarray.

“What do you want us to do, father?” Harry asked, breaking the silence.

What did Stannis want to do?

The throne was his by right and law. His brother had no heirs, none with the skills necessary to rule anyway. The children to be from his loins were bastards. While it was not unheard of for a bastard to become a lord, allowing one to be king was a very different matter. Blood mattered to the Houses of the Seven Kingdoms. Legitimacy mattered.

But, to allow the Lannisters to keep it would be an even bigger insult to his House and to the Houses of the other kingdoms. Either option would also start a war with no clear-cut sides.

The North would side with them, to free Ned Stark and the Riverlands too for what Tywin ordered his men to do. But, that still left the Reach, the Stormlands, the Crownlands, and the Vale. All were strong in their own right, all possible game changers if they were to ally with either side.

“We do justice.” Stannis replied, matching his son’s stare. All were silent, even his normally brash good-daughter, knowing that the decision would be argued between the Lord of Dragonstone and the Heir of Dragonstone. It was the future of their family, and they were the leaders of it.

“You are sure of what you know?” Harry asked.

“I would not have said anything if I wasn’t sure.” Stannis bristled at the questions. His son had known him all his life. When was he ever prone to exaggeration?

“We are about to declare war and commit treason. I want to know if you are completely sure. This will not be like the Greyjoy Rebellion. It won’t end in a year. The entire kingdom will have to choose sides. Men, women, and children will die by the hundreds. So, again father, are you absolutely sure?” Harry replied, his eyes staring into Stannis’s own. He did not take to kindly to having his integrity questioned. But, the older man understood. Harry was right. This would be a war on the scale of his brother’s rebellion. Many men would die before it was through and countless innocent lives would be lost from it. Entire families were lost to such a war.

“I am sure.” He grit out through his teeth.

A silence descended upon them, the other members of the group swiveling their heads to look between father and son. They were challenging each other, seeing which would be the first to back down. But, Harry understood that justice must be done.

“What are our numbers?” His son finally asked. Stannis looked to Ser Davos with a nod.

“One hundred and sixty ships, eighty galleys, four hundred knights, and a little more than four-thousand men-at-arms.” The seasoned sailor announced. “We could have another hundred and fifty ships if we use the galleys you own for trading.”

“No, those ships will need to sail to Essos. We will need supplies if we are to fight the war.” Harry said with a shake of his head.

His son was right. They would not be able to go inland for supplies unless they allied with the Reach. Even then, they would have to sail around Dorne to Oldtown or Sun House to pick it up. It was far quicker to sail to Essos and grab supplies. So long as they fought on the east end, they could supply the troops faster.

“The Crownlands can raise twelve-thousand men in two moons time and have fifty ships. We won’t be able to siege King’s Landing with so little men.” Harry sighed.

“We can invade through the Mud Gate, infiltrate by sea.” Davos said, moving model ship into Blackwater Bay. “We will outnumber them on the sea.”

“But, not on land. They could just rain down arrows at us from their walls. Our casualties will be too great. We will be forced to retreat before we even touch the wall, let alone breach it.” Harry shook his head, respectfully rejecting Ser Davos’s plan.

Stannis felt a measure of pride. While Ser Davos’s plan could work, Harry was also correct. The margin of error for such an attack was high and better left as a last resort. He could see Harry’s eyes dance across the map, stop and carry on again. Stannis knew what his son was thinking. He had the thought himself.

“We will need allies.” He voiced his thoughts.

“The Ironborn will side with you.” Yara, his good-daughter, exclaimed while grabbing four wooden ships. “At least four Houses will side with you, maybe more. They can field at least fifty ships each, with men to crew them. That’s twelve thousand reavers that can take on any coastal towns. If Tywin Lannister means to go to war over this, then he will have to split is attention between Ironborn reavers and the men of the North.”

The board had started to come together. Four ships to represent the four Houses of the Iron Islands, two soldiers to represent the twenty-thousand men the North would be able to put together on short notice, and while the Riverlands could normally sport forty-five thousand men, their losses to Ser Gregor Clegane would not doubt put there numbers lower, Stannis put two soldiers. It was better to underestimate their strength than overestimate it. The Crowlands had one soldier placed on top of King’s Landing, five for the Vale, the Reach had nine soldiers, and the Stormlands had three, with Dorne to have four. As they finished setting up the Painted Table, everyone started to understand that they if went at it alone, regardless of their sea superiority the battle would be lost unless they gathered allies.

“The Grey Knights and the men of the _Prayer_ will sail north. We will go and treat with Robb Stark.” Harry intoned. His face was focused on the board, the determined line of his lips hidden behind his hands.

“They will have the least amount of men. It would be more beneficial to treat with the Reach first, even the Stormlands. It was our home once. The men there know that it was our family that held Storm’s End during the siege. Some may kneel to me as the rightful king.” Stannis stated.

He had planned to send Harry to Highgarden. His son was a charismatic figure. No one may have cared for Stannis, but Harry was a successful businessman that brought the luxuries of Essos to the West. If the Reach sided against them, they would have to know that all trade to them would stop, ceasing certain items they had grown accustomed to. It was a small price for them to pay, but it was a price nonetheless.

“I agree,” Harry nodded his head, “that is why you, father, will ride to the Stormlands.”

Stannis leaned unto the table, cupping his hands to mirror his son. He grit his teeth at being told what to do, but was interested enough to hold his temper back; but, only barely.

“And why would I do that?” He growled out with a glare.

“As you said, it was you that held Storm’s End during the siege. They will respect you for that. If anyone has a chance of turning the Storm Lords from Uncle Renly it would be you. It is a well-known fact that Uncle Renly spends most of his time in Highgarden. He barely does his duties as Master-of-Law, let alone Lord Paramount of the Stormlands. Not all will bend the knee to you, but even one or two houses would be thousands of men.” Harry explained calmly, matching his father’s gaze. It was Stannis’s turn to back down. He had a point.

“And what will you being doing in the North?” Stannis questioned.

“Robb Stark will want vengeance for the wrongful imprisonment of his father. His Northern sense of honor will allow nothing less. I will tell him of Cersei’s treachery and he will believe it, if only to help himself better explain why his father was imprisoned for treason. He will bend the knee when I tell him that it will guarantee the support of my trading ships and the support of the Ironborn. The number of men Tywin Lannister commands alone will outnumber him, never mind if in combination with the Crownlands. Robb will know he will need all the help he can get.”

Stannis could only nod. It was a good plan. Yara and Harry had more contact with the Ironborn than the ward of Ned Stark, Theon. The Ironborn did not know Theon, did not know what the boy was capable of. But, they knew Yara and Harry. They had raided the Stepstones with the Ironborn and made many of the lords rich. If Harry allowed them to raid Lannister lands, many would join for that alone. Some of the Ironborn had long ago stopped caring about the Iron Price. All they wanted was easy gold.

Stannis motioned for his son to continue. He was on a roll so far; it was better to let the young man speak. He had learned everything he knew from Stannis. Harry was not a warmonger, but he was very intimate with it. If he were alone, Stannis would have patted himself on the back for how well his son had turned out.

The plan Harry had laid out was well thought out, with Stannis only having to correct him on some of the smaller aspects and with very few questions as to what they would do.

Harry would take his Grey Knights, the one hundred men of the _Prayer,_ and another hundred knights North. They would treat with Robb Stark, promise the boy justice and when they won, Ned Stark would be cleared of all charges of treason and his sisters returned to him. Harry would also provide materials to rebuild what the Lannisters did to the Riverlands at a heavily discounted price. Where the North went, the Riverlands would follow, but it was still a good gesture to offer them something.

While North they would send to meet with the Ironborn. They may have commanded the loyalty of four Houses, but his son did not trust Balon Greyjoy. The man had rebelled before. It was not too far a stretch of the imagination to think he would do so again when the realm was thrown into chaos. It was a small surprise to see Yara agree. Stannis knew the young woman had grown fond of his son, but to see her so ready to bring her own father to heel, let him know how much.

The Ironborn would bend the knee. Stannis was sure of that. If they didn’t they would have to contend with the entire realm when the war was over. But, if they sided with him then one of their own would be queen and they would prosper more than they had in the past.

Stannis would venture to Dorne. There was no love between House Martell and House Baratheon. But, for all their misgivings with each other, they both hated the Lannister’s even more. The enemy of my enemy is my friend. The number of men the Dornish could raise was in question, but it was a safe assumption it was somewhere between thirty and forty thousand. Harry had brought Sunspear a lot of trading business in the past. They would not part so easily with that amount of coin. It was all a matter if Stannis could make Prince Doran see that. His son had suggested offering Ser Gregor Clegane and Ser Amory Lorch to Dorne as a symbol of good faith. When they won the war, whether Dorne participated or not, they would be given the killers of their princess and her children.

It was a sentiment Stannis could stand behind. He had argued with his brother over the fact of letting those two men live. War was brutal and bloody, but Ellia Martel and her children were not common folk caught up in the middle of the battle. They were royalty of Dorne: they deserved a better fate than what was given to them, especially the children. Any number of things could have been done with them. They needed not die. 

After Dorne, Stannis would see how many of the Storm Lords would swear to him. He had some respect in that part of the kingdoms. It was not Renly to defend Storm’s End when the Tyrells brought siege for an entire year. It was not Renly who flew Baratheon colors during the Greyjoy Rebellion. His younger brother, who was well loved, had no battle experience, no experience as a commander. For all his brother was, Stannis knew that Renly was little more than a pretty face. The same could be said for Ser Loras. The man was a summer knight. Good for tourneys, wooing maids at ceremonies, but not a man who would excel in the hell that was war.

To end it all, to unite the realm, Harry would venture back south and meet with Stannis. They would both treat with Renly to hopefully use him to garner support with the Reach. If Renly sided with them, in combination of what Harry had done for them, the Reach would bend the knee. There would have been a steep penalty, something the Tyrells would no doubt want. But, there would be little cards they would have to play. They could side with the Lannisters, but Yara and Harry could just add the coastal towns of the Reach as targets for the Ironborn to raid. They would have to leave a sizeable amount of their soldiers just to ensure none of the keeps were taken.

The Tyrells could opt to remain neutral in the matter or wait until the less moment to join. But, Stannis was not his brother. He would remember they turned him away in his time of need, as minor as it was. They would expect much, but would get nothing from him. There would be no positions for them in his court; there would be no respect and certainly no new lands.   

With the battle plans set everyone went to prepare. They were going to war.

“Harry, Ser Davos, a moment.” Stannis said, stopping the two most important people in the battles to come.

His son exchanged looks with his wife and the Dames of Bearstone. Stannis had headaches with just one woman who would barely listen to him and she was at least his wife. The years of having to deal with Muirgen and Yara constantly undermining his commands in favor of his son’s was starting to grate on his nerves. While it was good to see his son inspire such loyalty, especially from a woman whose brother he had killed, made him proud. But, it also made him want to scream and rage to the heavens about what he had ever done to deserve such disobedient people in his House.

“How long until you sail?” He asked, breathing deeply to stow his anger away. It was his son’s fault they were so openly defiant to him, but he could hardly reprimand his son for their fidelity.

“Well, I still have to armor my squire. Originally, I was going to have his armor made from the North as he holds great love for his home. But, as we are going to war soon, I will have to have it made here. Such a thing will take a few days and him getting used to it another few days. So, half a weeks time…a week at most.” Harry replied.

Ah, yes, the new squire. Out of all the young men in the land, of all the influential families Harry could have pulled favor from, his son had yet pulled another bastard into his service.

The thought made Stannis want to pull out his hair in frustration.

Squires were meant to affect a knight’s influence, garner favor from a family. Harry was one of twenty knights who lords would have tripped over themselves to give a son as a squire. He was Harry ‘Ironside’ Baratheon, leader of the vanguard at Pyke, scourge of pirates on the Narrow Sea, and bane of smugglers of Stepstones. A squire made a knight by him would automatically command respect. Dame Muirgen was a fine example of what people thought of knights made by Harry.

Yet, he chose another bastard boy.

His son’s un-conventionalism was going to drive him mad one day or into an early grave.

“I still say you could have done with a better squire. The Vale has many sons that would make better squires, the Reach is known for its chivalry. You could’ve taken one of your mother’s nephews. But, you take on another bastard.” Stannis growled, allowing his displeasure at his son’s choice known.

“All high-born families. Many who come from such a lot do not measure up to what I believe knights to be.” Harry said with a shrug.

Seeing his son was not about to explain further, Stannis waved him on. What in the seven hells did bastards possess that high-borns, who had been raised their entire lives for such an honor, did not.

“All of them fight for glory of their Houses. Squires from those lands don’t serve a knight out of gratefulness or honors of their oaths. They do it to make their Houses greater, to make themselves greater. Muirgen wanted to rise above her station, but even when I gave her, her own name and made her a Dame, she swore to me out of gratitude. Out of loyalty and honor. How many high-borns do you know would have done the same when they got what they wanted?” Harry asked with a brow raised. It was a rhetorical question because the answer was simple.

Not many. There would always be a few that held great respect for those who trained them for years, but not many would forsake the loyalty to their own Houses.

“And you believe this bastard to be of the same capacity?” Stannis asked. It was impossible to know the metal of a man until he was put into the fire. In the fire, his true colors would show.

“How can you be so sure?

But, Harry just smiled and replied surely. As surely as there was air, water, fire, and earth. No hesitation. No guessing. Just fact.

“Yes.”

~*~*~*~*~

~Harry~

“You will need me in the times to come my lord.”

Harry looked to the red witch and could not help but sigh. The woman had been respectful the last few years, keeping their ‘conversations’ to politeness with the occasional mentioning of prayer to R’hllor. Harry was glad she had received the message by his avoidance of her.

However, that all seemed to end once the battle plans had been made. Never before had she been so brazen in her attempts for his attention.

“For what? How many soldiers have you commanded? How many battles have you fought?” He asked drily.

She was a priestess. One with great magic he knew. Harry could feel it whenever she was near him. That could also have been another reason why he avoided her. The singing of her magic to his was tempting. Too tempting for him to resist for long. He could feel her power and his magic wanted to be near it in a way that could only be described as carnal.

“None my lord,” Melisandre admitted. “However, even you cannot deny that I am powerful in my own right. A great terror comes, a terror that I have tried to prepare you for. If you would not be so distant, I can aid you with the fire the Lord of Light has given you. It is a strong fire within you, but like all fires it must be properly tended to.”

He groaned at the mention of her god. The woman always went on and on about the Lord of Light. For once, he just wanted her to refer to it as it was.

Magic.

She claimed magic came from the Lord of Light, but the Targaryens had magic and they prayed to the Seven. The First Men probably had magic and they prayed to the Old gods. What set her Red god apart from the rest?

No, he did not believe in gods. Spirits, ghosts, and the like were not out of the realm of possibility, but beings of great immense power who did nothing as the world burned…even if they did exist, why would he worship them?

There was only one god Harry respected.

Death.

Death came equally to all. King or pauper, noble or small folk, man or woman, crone or child, Death came for all when it was time. Death did not expect worship; it took worshipers and heathens alike. It did not separate, did not differentiate, they were all equal in the eyes of Death.

If there was ever a god, then Death was it.

“I do not pray to your god, Melisandre,” Harry said. He did not add the title of Lady because she was no lady, a woman true, but no lady. There was no reverence in his voice as he addressed her, unlike his mother. And no courtesy that she did not deserve that her father afforded her.

“You have seen his powers at work through me. I had hoped you would come to the Lord in your own time, but you have proven beyond stubborn regarding the matter. I have seen you in my flames. You are Azor Ahai, the one to defeat the Great Other when the time comes.”

Her condescension was ire inspiring. She spoke as if he was a child, but he thought her the one being childish. So blinded by her fanatic faith that no amount of discussion could curb her thoughts.

To make matters worse Melisandre spoke of him in prophecy. He loathed prophecies. They were symbols of how fate like messing with mortals. His old life had been dictated by prophecy, one that was used to bend him one way or another. Harry would not allow this life to be the safe. He had done many things to ensure that he would not fail into the same traps of his old life.

“And how would praying to your god help me defeat this Great Other?” It was sarcasm. Harry did not expect her to have a true answer.

“You must accept your destiny. While prayer will help, it does not mean that you cannot hone the skills the Red god has given you. As I said, you are filled with his power. That is what he has given you to defeat the Great Other. In you is his fire that will burn away the coming cold and the light that will bend shadows to your whim.” Melisandre said coming to him, placing a hand on his shoulder. Harry could feel her magic touching him, soothing his own magic with its presence.

“You will teach me magic?” He asked, skeptical. There was no way he would bend the knee to her faith, yet she offered to teach him magic.

Melisandre’s sonorous, tinkling laughter filled the room.

“No, the Lord of Light already has given you everything you need. I will merely show you the way.” Her words were like oil. They slithered over his person in a way that he could not describe. He had always wanted to use magic again. Not the simple tricks he was able to do, but what he could see in his dreams. Harry had no way of knowing if such feats were capable in his world, but what else could he do?

Melisandre was the only person he had run across that had magic. At least, magic he could notice. He would learn everything of magic he could learn. She had not said he would have to pray to the Red god, which was to her credit.

Let her believe his magic from the Red god. What did he care?

So long as he could learn, could use it again, then what did it matter what she believed?

Harry almost groaned in longing when she pulled her hand away from his shoulder. He could still feel her magic, but it was more muted. His jaw clenched and eyes fluttered as he tried to gather himself. It appeared as if he would have to trail carefully, lest he become addicted to the feeling.

 _When my magic comes back…I won’t need it anymore_ , he told himself.

“Fine. You may accompany us North,” Melisandre bowed and made to leave before Harry called out to her.

“But, you will not do anything to jeopardize out treating with the Starks. Any mention of them being heathens, of them worshipping false gods, anything to even hint at conversion and I will put you in chains and have you drug back to Dragonstone. Do we understand each other?” He asked. There was no room for question at the tone of his voice. Harry did not want to woman putting them in jeopardy because of her…beliefs. A word to he used loosely to describe her fanatical behavior.

“I cannot preach to those unwilling to bend their ear.” She replied, her tone respectful. But, Harry wasn’t buying it. Her words were far too ambiguous. There were too many loopholes for her to wiggle her way through. With the vagueness of her statement, she didn’t even need to wiggle. Melisandre could waltz through the damned thing. It was something Harry could not have.

 “No. You are accompanying me to teach me magic, in private, and in confidence. Any word of this to anyone, even a small slip, I will have you put into chains and brought back to Dragonstone. Do not test me on this. I am willing to learn, willing to listen, but betray me and…” He let the sentence hang. Partially because he wanted her imagination to run wild at his warning and partially because he didn’t know what he would do.

“As you wish. I will not speak to anyone of what we do,” the way she said it made it sound more sexual than Harry was hoping she intended. “However, I cannot say that if people come to me wanting to hear the Lord’s words, I will turn them away. But, I will refrain from informing the heathens of their false gods.”

Harry supposed it was the best he was going to get. He could have done without the condescending tone.

“These are the terms then. Pack what you need. We sail for White Harbor in a weeks time.” Harry commanded. Melisandre curtseyed and spun, her gown fluttering behind her.

 _Now where have I seen that before_ , he thought sarcastically. He wondered if their relationship would be similar to the person she had just reminded him of. It had sort of ended well…but the road in between the beginning and end left much to be desired.


End file.
